


Take a Chance

by nest_of_dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22509364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nest_of_dreams/pseuds/nest_of_dreams
Summary: Draco has kept his head firmly down post-War. His mother can worry and his friends can complain all they want but he's perfectly content with the way things are, thank you very much.Enter Ginny Weasley and suddenly the comfortable monotony of his life is thrown into complete disarray. Accompanied by a terrifying ginger family and the Golden Boy himself, her unexpected friendship is truly a force to be reckoned with. But as Draco learns how to live again, he realises that sometimes chances are meant to be taken and being brave isn't just a Gryffindor thing.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 56
Kudos: 530





	Take a Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> A big thanks goes out to my wonderful alpha [misakikinomoto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misakikinomoto/) and thank you [Irymia](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/10022809/) for the amazing beta! I honestly couldn't have done it without the two of you.

Draco swore under his breath and hastily ducked out of the way as a spell shot straight at his head. It hit the wall behind him and he gulped as he took in the smoking hole it had made in the brick. Salazar’s ghost, that could have been his _skull._ He thought it prudent to immediately get away before someone else had a go at him, but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he found himself sopping wet.

Pushing his wet bangs out of his eyes, Draco turned to see that the perpetrator was little more than a schoolboy, probably in his fourth or fifth year at Hogwarts. The crowd around them was watching with interest and this only seemed to spur the whelp on even more.

“What’s the matter, Death Eater, a little water too much for you to handle?” the boy taunted, face scrunching up in a piss-poor attempt of a sneer. Draco personally thought that it looked more like he was suffering from a bad stomach-ache but he benevolently kept it to himself.

Instead, he pulled out the oak wand that he couldn’t quite bring himself to call ‘his’ yet. It had belonged to his Grandmother Druella and didn’t fully feel _right_ , but it was a wand nonetheless, and after being without one for more months than he liked to remember, Draco was thankful for it. At least he wasn’t reduced to living as a Squib any longer.

The crowd tensed up as they seemed to come to the realization that Draco was now armed, and the snotty schoolboy looked ready to wet himself. Although sorely tempted to hit the brat with a strong Furnunculus, Draco restrained himself and merely cast a Drying Charm on himself before striding away.

“Running away, are we?” the boy jeered after him, having apparently regained his bravado. “Can’t really expect anything more from cowardly scum like you.”

“We don’t want you here,” someone else called out shrilly. “Diagon Alley doesn’t welcome your sort.”

Draco hurried on without pause, ignoring the taunts and laughter that followed in his wake. He gritted his teeth as he pulled his hood up to cover his hair and obscure his face a bit. He really should have listened to Mother when she’d told him to cover up his distinctive hair, but after being subjected to the indignity of being forced to leave the Manor against his will, he hadn’t exactly been in a listening sort of mood.

This whole ridiculous ‘outing’ had been a mistake right from the start. He’d already been hexed at, had rubbish chucked at him, and been called just about every rude name he knew and then some. One witch had even _spat_ on him, the utter nerve. This would be the last time he bent to his mother’s will; he didn’t care how reproachfully she looked at him, he _would_ remain strong. Draco was his own man now, and Mother would-

Draco suddenly froze in his tracks. Where _was_ his mother?

“Oi, don’t just stop in the middle of the road! People are trying to walk here!”

The shout brought him out of his stupor and he quickly moved to duck into a nearby alley. Peering out, he looked around as he tried to mentally retrace his steps. They’d been on their way to Flourish and Blotts when he’d had that spell shot at him and then the schoolboy had come along. Come to think of it, Draco thought with a frown, the last time he remembered seeing her had been just as they’d left the Apothecary.

And that had been quite some time ago.

Draco’s breathing became erratic as a bubble of panic swelled up inside him. The rational part of his brain told him to remain calm and think this out clearly. With the Easter holidays upon them, Diagon Alley was teeming with activity, garishly decorated shops luring children in droves with the allure of chocolate and goodies, their helpless parents trailing behind in resignation. It was the simplest of things to get lost in such a crowd and there was no reason for Draco to lose his cool and make a spectacle of himself. He wasn’t about to run around calling for his mummy like a complete ninny.

And yet…

Draco quickly emerged out of the alleyway and headed back the way he’d come. He didn’t care that he was bumping into people left and right, shoving through the crowd like an uncivilised boor. He growled to himself as he pushed a hulking brute of a wizard out of the way, jabbing his bony elbows into the man’s fat pouch of a stomach. At least his skinniness was good for something, including slipping through tight crowds, whatever Mother had to say about it.

A small break appeared in the crowd ahead and Draco thankfully sprang towards it, but just as he tried to make his escape, someone stepped in front of the gap. Unable to slow his momentum, Draco hissed out a curse as he forcefully slammed into them. The person gave a feminine squawk of outrage as she was bowled over, instinctively grabbing at his robes and subsequently pulling him along with her. He managed to manoeuvre himself so that he didn’t fall completely on her, but still wound up draped across her middle.

“Ugh, get off me, you twat!”

The familiar voice had Draco springing up and away as if he’d Apparated, and sure enough, he looked down to see Ginny Weasley staring back at him furiously.

Well, his day just kept getting better and better.

“Ginny, dear, are you alright?” a voice called from the crowd and soon her mother came hurtling through with the force of a rampaging erumpent.

Draco stepped neatly to the side as the matron shot past him, grabbing onto the Weaslette and wrenching her off the ground with so much force that he was surprised she hadn’t dislocated her arm.

“Mum, I’m fine,” the Weaslette huffed as she dusted herself off. “I’m _fine_. It’ll take more than _Malfoy_ of all people–” she shot him a scornful look, “–to take me out.”

Draco really should have left at that. He should have ignored the barb and been on his merry way to find his mother. He should have chosen the course of action that ensured no complications, as any good Slytherin would.

 _Instead_ , he stooped down and picked up the Weaslette’s fallen bags, handing them to her with a muttered apology. 

She stared at him open-mouthed and Mrs Weasley may have pinched herself. Draco lifted his chin haughtily in response and tried to give the impression of a man who still saw them as much beneath him in every way. Not that he actually thought that – well, not anymore, at least – but appearances had to be kept and all. The flame-haired girl seemed like she wanted to say something but before she could, a loud taunt cut cleanly through the air.

“ _Death Eater whore!_ ”

Draco felt his heart practically lodge itself in his throat. Before he could gather his thoughts, he was already pelting through the crowd in the direction of the shout. He faintly registered footsteps following behind him, but any attempts to process this flew out the window when he came upon the small crowd gathered around his mother, who was defiantly staring back at a pair of leering wizards.

To a casual observer, it would seem that Narcissa was the personification of calm, but Draco wasn’t just anyone and he could read his mother well. Anger swelled up inside him as he took in the tense way in which she held her shoulders; how she was surreptitiously trying to reach into her robe sleeve for her wand.

“Kindly allow me to pass,” she said in a stern voice, although Draco detected a small waver in it.

The men must have heard it too, as they burst out laughing. “Oh, sweetheart, you can drop the prim and proper act already,” the taller of the two said, his extraordinarily thin lips spreading into an oily smile as he took a step closer. “We all know you’re long past that now.”

Draco would have stepped in then, but Narcissa suddenly looked his way and sent him a sharp look. She obviously wanted to handle this without any assistance, and all he could do was give a stiff nod and remain where he was, nothing more than another unhelpful spectator in the crowd.

“Yeah,” the other man chimed in, his nasally tone grating on Draco’s already frayed nerves. “Let off with nothing more than six months house arrest with no magic. Sounds awfully suspicious to me.” He addressed this to the crowd and many gave murmurs of agreement. Draco’s hands curled into fists.

“Makes you wonder what she did to get off so easily,” Thin Lips continued. “Probably whored herself off to gain the favour of the Wizengamot. Tell me, does your husband know what you’ve been up to while he’s off in Azkaban? Or perhaps it was his idea in the first place? Did the plan include obtaining pardon for him as well?”

“Kindly allow me to pass,” Narcissa repeated again, tone frigid.

“Did I strike a nerve?” Thin Lips jeered and Nasal Voice snorted out a laugh. “Come now, all that rot about you aiding the Saviour reeks of horse shite. You’re nothing more than the wife of a Death Eater, a common whore really. Bet they kept you around just to entertain You-know-who and the rest of his fucking followers. Did Lucius know about that too? Probably liked to watch, sick bastard that he is.”

Draco had had _enough._ Ignoring the warning looks his mother was shooting him, he pushed his way towards them. He dearly wanted to pull out his wand and hex the living daylights out of the swine, but he couldn’t risk violating his probation. Landing himself in Azkaban with Lucius was the last thing he needed.

Thin Lips looked practically gleeful as he took in Draco’s approach. “If it isn’t young Malfoy! Come to join the merry party?”

Draco ignored him as best he could and took hold of his mother’s arm, ready to lead her away from them. If they didn’t get away soon, he had no idea what he might do.

Thin Lips stepped smoothly in front of them. “Leaving so soon? But we were having such a pleasant conversation.” Nasal Voice laughed again. It seemed to be the only thing he was good for.

“Fucking move!” Draco growled and contemplated the merits of breaking his ‘no spitting on people’ policy.

Thin Lips tutted disapprovingly. “My, my, such vulgar language. Didn’t your mother teach you any better?”

“I assure you my mother taught me many things, some of which are the only reason you still remain standing with all your body parts intact,” Draco spat back at him, his fisted hands itching to plant themselves in Thin Lips’ grinning face.

“Feisty one, isn’t he?” Thin Lips spoke to what remained of the crowd. It had dissipated wonderfully when Draco had entered into the fray and now only a few stragglers were left. Apparently an angry Draco was still considered dangerous; a small comfort in its own regard.

“We were just talking about your mother’s resourceful way of keeping you both from Azkaban,” Thin Lips explained in a genial tone. “Really, you must be so proud of her.”

Draco gave him a vicious smile, teeth bared. “I am, actually. My mother is by far the bravest witch I know, and anyone who was present at her hearing would know that too. Lying to You-Know-Who isn’t something that many have lived to speak about.”

“Again with all that rubbish,” Thin Lips scoffed, his almost non-existent mouth threatening to disappear completely as he scrunched it up. Draco shivered as the lout regarded him contemplatively from head to toe, and the leer that came onto his face afterwards certainly didn’t help matters.

“Or perhaps… she didn’t have to whore herself out after all,” he said slowly, leaning in _much_ too close for Draco’s comfort. “I mean, why would she, when she has a pretty little poofter of a son to spread his legs on her behalf?”

Draco recoiled in revulsion, practically choking on his disgust. His wand was in hand with a flick of his wrist, and he would have assuredly ended up in Azkaban that very day if another voice hadn’t spoken up indignantly.

“That’s _quite_ enough!”

Draco turned to see Mrs Weasley advancing on them with purposeful strides, her mouth set in a disapproving line.

“Young man, you should be ashamed of yourself!” she reprimanded fiercely, glaring up at Thin Lips. “In all my days I have never witnessed such disgusting behaviour. Good heavens, and in the middle of the street, no less!”

Draco felt his jaw drop in an exceedingly undignified manner as Mrs Weasley proceeded to tear a strip off Thin Lips, who was looking decidedly ill now. She’d really worked herself up into a fine rant, and her voice rang through the air; scolding his conduct, his language, and even berating him for having a hole on the sleeve of his robes! Then she turned her attention to the crowd and Nasal Voice, and soon they were all hurrying away with shamed expressions, many of them red with embarrassment as well.

A hand landed on Draco’s arm and he jumped, but it turned out to only be the Weaslette. “Come on,” she said, tugging at his arm. “Let’s get out of here. Mum’ll finish up with this and join us in a moment.” Feeling as if he’d been sent to some strange alternate universe, Draco allowed himself to be dragged away, his mother following behind with a bemused expression.

As they passed a darkened alleyway, the Weaslette pulled out her wand and shot a quick spell into the darkness, hardly even glancing at it beforehand. She laughed at the crash and sharp exclamation that followed, and tucked her wand away.

“A reporter,” she explained when Draco shot her a questioning look. “I’ve grown quite adept at destroying cameras now. That was the fifth one this week, I think.”

The Weaslette finally stopped when they reached a less bustling part of the street, and Draco eyed her warily. He’d never admit it, but Ginny Weasley had always intimidated him a little, and he was at a complete loss over what to say or do in the face of her nonchalant stare.

“I’d have thought it impossible,” she began slowly. “But I think you may have gotten paler.”

_What the fuck?_

Narcissa let out a delicate huff of air that was her equivalent to a snort of laughter.

“I think your eyes are bigger too,” the Weaslette continued, tapping a finger contemplatively on her chin. “Or it could be that your face is thinner. Your hair is longer too.”

_Had she been hit by a stray curse or something?_

She reached out and gave his sleeve a quick rub between her fingers. “And seriously, how expensive is this robe? It _feels_ like it would cost my entire wardrobe put together.”

Narcissa let out another huff, and Draco shot her a frown. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into the Weasley girl, but whatever it was, it was not to be encouraged. Mrs Weasley came bustling towards them then, her cheeks still lightly flushed from her outburst.

“There was a reporter,” the Weaslette told her mother. “But I took care of him.”

Mrs Weasley nodded approvingly. “Good girl.” She turned to the two Malfoys. “Now then, are you alright?” she enquired politely.

Draco still hadn’t quite come to grips with what had just happened, and he remained silent. Luckily, his mother had her wits about her, ever the dignified Malfoy matriarch, and could answer instead.

“Oh yes, we’re quite alright, thank you.” She inclined her head graciously and offered a polite smile. “Your assistance was greatly appreciated. I’d hoped to deal with the situation without bringing Draco into it, and I found myself at a loss when that despicable cretin turned his attention onto him.”

Mrs Weasley nodded gravely. “It was atrocious behaviour, truly frightful.”

“One would think I’d be adept at handling such matters by now,” his mother said with a small laugh, and Draco was instantly alert.

“What do you mean ‘by now’, Mother?” he asked sharply. His eyes widened when she deliberately schooled her face into an indifferent mask. Having done so himself on many occasions, he knew _exactly_ what the gesture meant. “Has this happened _before_?”

“Draco, do keep your voice down.”

“ _Mother!_ ”

She let out an irritated sigh and briefly glanced at the Weasleys, giving them a stiff smile before grasping Draco by the arm and leading him away from them. “If you must know,” she began once they were out of earshot, “I’ve been subjected to unfriendly behaviour before.”

Draco was stunned. He’d known that the public wouldn’t exactly accept them with open arms, but he’d always assumed that they would be more lenient with his mother. Narcissa didn’t have the Mark, after all, and had never been a Death Eater. He’d thought the worst she’d come across would be hissed words behind her back or a mild snubbing.

“Such behaviour is to be expected,” she continued. “People aren’t likely to forgive and forget so easily, and the War is still fresh in all our minds. Stop giving me that look, Draco.”

“Mother, how could you not tell me any of this?” Draco demanded angrily, although most of the anger was directed at himself. He should have known what was happening. He should have been there to protect her.

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And what, may I ask, would you have done if I had told you? We are no longer under house arrest, and yet you still insist on living like a recluse. If I hadn’t managed to coax you out today, you would still be holed up in your rooms.”

“If you’d told me you were being harassed, I’d have accompanied you on _all_ your outings!”

“Draco, I am not some helpless flower that you must protect,” she replied coldly. “I am a grown witch of sound mind and body, with a capable wand and a steady hand. I did not ask you out today for my own protection, but for the simple fact that I worry about my only child wasting his days away with no company other than myself and the house elves.”

“Well, _I_ am not a child anymore,” Draco retorted, jaw clenched. “I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions, and if I choose to not leave the Manor, so be it.”

Narcissa continued to glare icily at him and he met it with one of his own. A cleared throat finally broke the tension between them, and they both turned to see that despite it being obvious that they were having a private conversation over here, Mrs Weasley had _still_ come over anyways. Honestly, Draco shouldn’t have been surprised. Gryffindors and Weasleys never could read the mood.

“Excuse me, but may I interject?” Mrs Weasley enquired pleasantly, as if she hadn’t shamelessly inserted herself into their discussion uninvited. Her daughter stood behind her, idly watching the scene with arms loosely crossed over her chest. “Mrs Malfoy, if I’m assuming correctly here, it seems that you’ve been harassed regularly. Have the attempts ever crossed over to violence?”

Narcissa’s glare softened and a tired expression took its place. “I’ve had a fair share of spells shot at me but I quite pride myself on my Shield Charm and do not know what they would have done had they actually hit me.”

Mrs Weasley frowned.

“I had a Burning Hex shot at me today,” Draco added before he could stop himself, the words leaving him in a rush. “I ducked out of the way, but it left a crater in the stone wall behind me.”

“I see,” Mrs Weasley murmured, sharing a look with her daughter. “We really should tell Kingsley about all this. We’ve already gone to war once because of prejudice and division amongst ourselves; we can’t allow it to happen again. Haven’t you reported any of these attacks?”

Narcissa pursed her lips before answering shortly. “The first time it happened, I _did_ report it. The young Auror that I spoke to was… unhelpful.”

Mrs Weasley looked livid. “Something _must_ be done! I don’t suppose you remember who this Auror was?”

“I do not know his name but would recognize him if I ever saw him again.”

Mrs Weasley nodded. “I shall get Arthur to arrange an appointment with Kingsley for the two of us. You can report this incompetent Auror as well.”

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley,” Narcissa said quietly, and Draco had to look away, his chest constricting. Things weren’t supposed to be like this; that a small act of kindness _humbled_ his mother. It wasn’t right or fair and it reminded Draco that for them, compassion was rare and not to be expected.

“It’s no problem,” Mrs Weasley replied just as softly, smiling at them both for the first time ever. “And please, do call me Molly.”

“Then you must return the favour and call me Narcissa.”

“Well then, Narcissa, do you have somewhere to be or would you like to accompany us? Ginny and I were just on our way to Flourish and Blott’s to pick up Joyce Gretchin’s new release.”

Narcissa’s face lit up. “What a coincidence, I was on my way to buy Ms Gretchin’s new novel as well!”

“How delightful! So you are also a fan of hers?” Mrs Weasley gushed.

“I confess that I am. I find her writing quite refreshing.”

“Isn’t it? I especially like…”

The two witches began to move towards the shop, still chattering away to each other and Draco was left behind with the Weaslette. She looked completely unsurprised by the truly shocking turn of events.

“Quick question, Malfoy. Are _you_ a fan of Joyce Gretchin?”

Draco grimaced. “I’d rather have my wand shoved up my nose than read her dribble. I honestly don’t see why Mother finds her books so appealing. Load of rubbish with too many adjectives and an unhealthy amount of fit chimney sweeps if you ask me.”

Weaslette nodded and bestowed on him a comradely grin. “We’ll get along swimmingly then. Oh, and even though I know who you are, I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced.” She held out a hand. “Ginevra Weasley, Ginny if you please.”

Draco found himself clasping her hand with a bemused smile. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ginny. Draco Malfoy at your service.”

* * *

“That was a delightful turn of events,” Narcissa said as soon as Draco landed them in the foyer. "Molly is a lovely witch and I confess I’m glad Lucius isn’t here to spoil this friendship for me.”

Draco gave a strained smile. His mother had been doing this more and more often these days; making barbed remarks about Lucius. She still hadn’t forgiven him for the hell he’d landed their family in, but most of all, Draco thought she was angered by the Mark that still marred his left arm. It had stopped moving the moment Voldemort had been defeated, but even after almost a year, it was still plainly visible against his pale skin. Faded, but still there – an ever-present reminder.

He didn’t blame his mother for her vindictive attitude. It would seem hypocritical of him to defend Lucius now after he’d all but told him how much he loathed calling him his father. Draco winced in memory; it was definitely a conversation he was unlikely to forget in a long time.

Lucius had been as prejudiced and egotistical as always even as he was being shipped to Azkaban in chains, and he hadn’t taken too kindly to being told some hard truths. Narcissa had still been rather cowed by her husband at the time and she hadn’t said much apart from mentioning her plans to make amends with her estranged sister. It had been Draco who had had to tell Lucius that everything he’d taught him was wrong and that if he ever hoped to salvage his soul (whatever little of it he had left), he had to let go of his hate. His father had never been a very good listener and his parting words had been, “I am ashamed to think that you bear my name.”

Needless to say, they’d cut all ties with him soon after.

Only recently had his mother begun to show an independence that hadn’t been there when Lucius was around. Draco thought it partly had to do with her re-acquaintance with her sister, but mostly it was just because she was finally free to make her own decisions for once. Same as he was.

Still, it was a tad disconcerting to hear her so openly jabbing at Lucius and while it gratified him to see that the fire she’d had during his childhood was returning to her, it also saddened him to think that it had ever been put out in the first place.

“I’m glad you’ve made a friend, Mother,” Draco said honestly.

“Not just me,” she replied with a knowing smile. “I saw that you and Ginevra were getting along splendidly as well.”

Draco shrugged, even as he felt a smile tugging at his lips. “Ginny’s alright.”

“I’m just happy you had a good time.” His mother placed her hand on his cheek in a tender gesture before stepping away. “Well then, I’ll be reading in the garden if you need me, darling. If not, I’ll see you at supper.”

She gracefully left the foyer and Draco made his way up to his suite of rooms. He switched out of his outdoor robes and haphazardly dragged on a pair of Muggle shorts and a plain t-shirt that was much too big for him. It made him look even more emaciated than he already was, but was also sinfully comfortable. He then grabbed a band off his dressing table and dragged some of his hair back into a messy queue. His hair really wasn’t long enough to tie back – and he sure as hell didn’t plan on growing it out – but he found that he liked to pull his hair back. His mirror, on the other hand, was not a fan of the look.

It was a handsome piece of furniture, made of a dark rich wood that had been lovingly worked over using magic until it was covered in dainty carvings. A figurine of a fairy sat prettily at the top centre, her slender legs curled over the surface of the mirror, and even now she was scrunching her nose up in disgust.

“You look _awful_ ,” she said with a shudder.

Draco smirked. “I think I look smashing.”

“Why must you torture your hair like that?” she moaned pitifully. “And those clothes…”

“Are my guilty pleasure and very pleasing they are indeed. Comfortable too,” he retorted. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way to talk to actual human beings, lest I confirm my mother’s suspicions that I am a few steps away from going completely round the bend.”

Draco placed a couple of cushions in front of his fireplace before settling down on his stomach. He reached for a pinch of Floo powder and threw it in, calling out “Zabini estate, Pansy’s room” before thrusting his head into the flames.

“Pansy, are you– Sweet mother of Merlin!” He hurriedly retracted his head and tried to shake the image of his best friend getting thoroughly buggered by some tanned Adonis of a bloke. Grimacing as the shock wore off, he grabbed another pinch of powder and threw it into the grate again.

“Zabini estate, Pearl sitting room.” He thrust his head into the flames again, ready to start calling for Blaise, but unfortunately for him, he was met with the scarring image of his _other_ best friend consorting with _another_ tanned Adonis of a bloke. Although in this case, Blaise appeared to be the one doing the buggering.

Draco gave an anguished exclamation and pulled his head out of the flames again, flopping onto his back with a loud groan. He wondered if he’d be able to self-obliviate himself without ending up in the Janus Thickey ward.

“Draco?” an unapologetic voice called from the fireplace and he tilted his head backwards, giving Pansy’s upside-down head his best glare.

“Draco, my brother from another mother!” Blaise’s head appeared next to Pansy’s and he had the audacity to grin. “What brings you fire-calling?”

Draco rolled back onto his stomach. “I was hoping to have a nice pleasant conversation with my two best friends. Instead I get a first-hand look at your very active sex lives. Lucky me.”

Pansy snorted. “That’s what you get for calling so suddenly. It’s not like I was expecting you.”

“Next time you decide to have an afternoon shag, remember to lock the bloody Floo!”

“Oh, darling, you know better than to call at a girl’s room unannounced. I could have been changing, you know.”

“Fine, I suppose I should have rung before putting my head through,” Draco conceded before turning to give Blaise a flat look. “What’s your excuse then? The sitting room, Blaise. Your _mother’s_ sitting room. _Really?_ ”

Blaise looked entirely too smug for a disembodied head floating in a fireplace. “All that says is that we were so impassioned with each other, we couldn’t even make it to my room.”

“And do tell me,” Draco continued with a grimace, “Why do both your boy toys look the same? Some weird kinky game of yours involving Polyjuice?”

Pansy laughed. “I don’t know whether to be offended or gratified by your regard for my level of debauchery. There was no Polyjuice involved; we simply made the acquaintance of a pair of delectable twins. One happened to swing my way while the other swung Blaise’s.”

“Ah.” Honestly, he wasn’t all that shocked by it all. “Where are they now? Please tell me they aren’t waiting somewhere out of my line of vision until you get back to them.”

“Fear not my prudish friend, we gave them the boot,” Blaise answered. “I was quite enjoying that one actually but for some reason Pansy said that you were more important than a random fuck.”

“Oh… well, thank you.” Draco was oddly touched.

“It was nothing, really.” Pansy gave a small smile. “Anyways, did you call for a reason or just to chat?”

“Just a chat, actually,” Draco admitted sheepishly. “I had a rather odd day. Hold up, cut the Floo and I’ll call you. It’s probably difficult for both of you to use the Floo at the same time.”

“Well, it _is_ fairly trying, having to fit my head in next to Pansy’s fat one…” Blaise began with a sly grin and then cut the call.

When Draco once more stuck his head through, he found Blaise groaning and nursing his head while Pansy smiled smugly.

“So, tell us about this odd day of yours.”

Draco recounted the trip to Diagon alley and how the Weasleys unexpectedly came to their aid. Blaise whistled.

“Rescued by Mama Weasley, huh? Is she as fierce as the stories say?”

Pansy shot him a sardonic look. “You act as if she’s some ancient warrior.”

“If she can take out Bellatrix Lestrange, she’s a warrior in my eyes.”

Draco found himself nodding at that. “She’s like a bustling hen with the presence of a mad Bludger when she gets going. And she has this way of making you feel like a child when she scolds you.”

“A terrifying skill.”

“After Molly made her rescue, she invited us along on their shopping expedition,” Draco continued. “She and Mother share a love for Joyce Gretchin novels.”

“Oh, did Narcissa get the new release?” Pansy asked excitedly. “I must borrow it. The last one with the chimney sweep was simply delicious!”

Draco shared a pained look with Blaise. “I’ll send it over when she’s finished with it.”

“So you spent the afternoon with them?” Blaise asked. “How was our fiery Ginevra?”

“She was…” Draco struggled for a word. “ _Nice._ She didn’t try to hex me at all and we managed a civilised conversation. She says I’ve gotten paler,” he added with a frown.

“From what I saw before, you do seem a tad whiter,” Pansy said thoughtfully. “Must be because you insist on living like a Muggle depiction of a vampire.”

“It’s not like I’m welcome anywhere,” Draco huffed. “I feel much safer in the Manor.”

“You’ll end up as a crazy old kneazle man,” Blaise prophesised gravely. “Minus the kneazles.”

“Maybe he could be a crazy old house elf man?” Pansy suggested. “Narcissa says he speaks with them quite a lot now.”

“The beginnings of madness if you ask me. And he’s so young too.”

“A real-life tragedy in the making.”

“Reduces me to tears, it does.”

“I am still here, you know,” Draco interjected.

“Darling,” Pansy sighed. “You know we worry about you. Why can’t you just accept Blaise’s invitation and join us here in Italy? There’s plenty of room and so much to do! It’ll be like old times again.”

Draco closed his eyes momentarily. “It’s tempting, but the answer is still no. I can’t leave my mother alone over here. Apart from Aunt Dromeda and Teddy, I’m all she has.”

Pansy’s gaze softened. “I know, Draco, but she’s welcome to come too. Ariana would love to have her. She’s currently between lovers and would enjoy the company.”

Draco shook his head and she pouted.

“Very well then. Leave me in the company of this boor.”

“So rude, Pans,” Blaise said pleasantly. “And to your host no less! What would you be doing if I hadn’t offered you a place to hide out in?”

Pansy sniffed scornfully. “I’d have joined Draco as a recluse in the Manor. My mother, no matter how terrifying she may be, would never barge in unannounced and I’m certain the Manor’s wards can keep her away.”

“She still hasn’t given up then?” Draco asked sympathetically.

“She’s relentless,” Pansy groaned. “Wants me married off and popping out a child before I’ve even reached twenty! I almost wish I was gay, maybe then she’d get off my back.”

“It does have its merits,” Draco snorted in amusement, “But if your father is anything like mine, the necessity of an heir would drive him to find some discreet family to marry you off to, gay or otherwise. Why, just the other day Lord Greengrass called on us to ask if we were still planning on fulfilling the contract.”

Pansy’s eyes widened. “The contract is _still_ valid?”

“You’d think they’d have backed out after Lucius went to Azkaban,” Blaise added.

“That’s what I thought,” Draco replied. “Seems they were willing to overlook our involvement in the War since we’d been pardoned and all. Mother handled the matter smoothly enough and now the contract’s been officially destroyed.”

“Hear hear!” Blaise cheered. “Pity for little Astoria though. She was quite besotted with you if I remember correctly. A sweet thing really, unlike her sister.”

Pansy’s lips curled back at the mention of Daphne. “Bitch,” she spat. “I heard she’s having a wonderful time in the dungeons. The only eighth year Slytherin female to return.”

“Still haven’t forgiven her for ‘stealing’ Adrian Pucey from you?” Blaise asked with a sly smile.

“I will _never_ forgive her for that.”

Draco smiled fondly as the two began to bicker; Blaise taunting half-heartedly and Pansy replying with heat. It almost made it feel as if everything was normal; as if nothing had changed, even when Draco knew that he couldn’t fool himself no matter how hard he tried. _Everything_ had changed.

“Draco?”

He looked up to find his friends regarding him with worried expressions. He bit back a laugh. For all their scandalous behaviour and quirks, Blaise and Pansy resembled nothing more than a pair of doting parents when they looked at him like that. He shook his head.

“I’m fine. Had a moment of madness back there where I was tempted to tell you both just how much you mean to me.”

Blaise gave a shaky sort of smile. “Don’t go all sentimental on us now, Draco. You know we rely on you to uphold the aloofness that we Slytherins pride ourselves on. The moment you start telling us about your feelings is the moment the world ends.”

“Oh, bollocks!” Pansy suddenly wailed. “I wish we were back in the good old days when we’d be lounging by the Lake without a care in the world. I’d be leaning against a tree with Draco’s head in my lap, Blaise sprawled beside him…”

“…Greg and Vince would be trying to fish with no success, whilst simultaneously eating all the crackers they’d brought as bait…” Blaise put in.

“....and Theo would be reading a book and steadfastly ignoring both Daphne and Millie’s attempts at getting his attention,” Draco finished with a laugh. “That _would_ be a typical Slytherin afternoon by the Lake.”

“Ah, how times have changed,” Blaise sighed.

 _What an understatement_ , Draco thought as he glanced at the large grandfather clock in the corner of his room, and regretfully noted that it was almost suppertime already. He released a slow breath and smiled wanly at his friends. “As much as I hate to leave at this depressing note, it’s almost time for supper and I have to change.”

The two nodded understandably. “We’ll talk to you later then,” Pansy said, leaning forward to ghost her lips over where the flames made his cheeks.

“Tell your mother we said ‘hello’,” Blaise added.

Draco smiled up at the two of them and then withdrew his head. He quickly changed into more respectable clothes and headed downstairs. They no longer dressed formally for dinner but he knew his mother wouldn’t approve of him coming downstairs dressed sloppily. She was constantly telling him that just because he _was_ a layabout, didn’t mean he had to _look_ like one too.

Narcissa was waiting for him near the stairs and she smiled as he approached, holding up her new book.

“I finished it already. A pleasant read but not one of her bests.”

“Pansy would like to borrow it if you don’t mind. Shall I send it by owl tonight?”

“No, tomorrow morning would be better,” she replied firmly. “I don’t like sending Athena on long-distance flights after dark, and I know you won’t use a hired owl. You really should consider getting a new owl.”

Draco left the suggestion unanswered and headed down towards the kitchen, not caring if his mother followed or not. He hadn’t been close to Tiberius, not in the way some people had been with their owls, but he’d still felt a certain amount of affection towards him. It wasn’t fair that Greyback had shot Tiberius out of the sky for no reason other than to satisfy his sadistic needs. It wasn’t fair that he’d engaged some of the other Death Eaters in his sick little game to see how many Cruciatus Curses the owl could handle before he died. It wasn’t fair that Rodolphus had caught sight of Draco watching from his window and forced him to count aloud as they proceeded to take turns casting.

He’d managed seventeen counts before having to rush to the nearest bathroom to sick up. When he’d returned to the window, the Death Eaters had left and Draco had gone out to retrieve Tiberius’ abused body, ordering a house elf to bury him in a corner of the garden. He still visited the little grave once or twice a week.

When he entered the kitchen, he found the small kitchen table already set with their meal. Both he and his mother refused to ever eat in the dining room again unless extremely important guests came over and even Aunt Dromeda joined them in the kitchen when she happened to visit. She’d suggested that remodelling the room might help them to get over their aversion towards it, but as they still hadn’t gotten down to doing it, mealtimes took place in the comely Manor kitchens.

He took a seat on one of the tall wooden chairs and a few minutes later his mother joined him, looking subdued. The meal proceeded in silence save for the occasional clink of cutlery on the plates. Soon the house elves were clearing the dishes away to bring in dessert. Only then did Narcissa finally speak up.

“I meant no offense when I suggested a new owl.”

“I know,” Draco sighed, not wanting to talk about it. He didn’t like to talk about _anything_ involving the War, but his mother thought differently, hoping that discussing what had happened would help them move past it.

She must have sensed that he was in no mood for such a talk and quickly changed the subject. “How are Pansy and Blaise doing then? I assume she is still staying at his family estate.”

“They’re both fine, I suppose. They seem happy.”

“And Gregory, have you heard from him lately?”

Draco shook his head. “The last owl I received from him was two weeks ago, but he was never a big letter writer to begin with so we shouldn’t worry. I assume he’s still working as a Muggle builder. He always did enjoy using his strength more than his mind.”

Narcissa hummed, taking a sip of rose tea before she continued, “I received a letter from Molly when I was out in the garden. She’s invited us both for brunch tomorrow morning and I accepted the invitation.”

Draco stared at her in dismay. A meal at the Weasley abode? He was going to be _killed_.

* * *

“Oh, thank Salazar!” Draco exclaimed as soon as Ginny told him that it was only she and her parents that were at home that morning.

“Why, were you afraid my brothers would eat you?” she asked with a laugh, leading him to sit out on the veranda overlooking the fields behind the house. “I’m pretty sure none of them have a taste for ferret so you needn’t worry.”

“Oh, har har, very funny.” Draco shot her a quelling look. “Joke all you want but I’m sure you of all people know that if any of your brothers were home, I’d likely not leave here with all my body parts intact. Weasel especially would go for blood, no questions asked.”

“And by ‘weasel’ you mean Ron? Whatever do you call the others then?”

“Well, until recently you were the Weaslette.”

“Hey!”

“I no longer call you that anymore so stop fussing,” Draco admonished. “Anyways, let’s see. Well, there’s joke shop Weasley, Gringott’s Weasley and stick-up-his-arse Weasley.”

“A little too long but perfect to describe Percy,” Ginny said in amusement. “Here’s an idea though. How ‘bout you try calling them by _name_.”

Draco sniffed. “Please Ginevra, don’t speak of such blasphemous things.”

“You are _such_ a snob! Who even says things like ‘blasphemous’? I don’t think Ron even knows what that word means!”

Draco smirked. “Are you trying to tempt me into insulting the Weasel because that’s a game I’m sure to win.”

Ginny gave him a friendly shove. “Seriously though, were you actually worried about my brothers? Mum’s already told them about what happened. If not friendly, they’d at least treat you all politely.”

Draco’s surprise must have shown on his face because she laughed again.

“We’re pretty forgiving people. Your mother already apologized to Mum for all the things that your family did or said, and I guess that’s enough for me. I’m tired of all the fighting and hate. I’m just so happy to have _survived_ , it seems such a waste of energy to remember old animosities.”

“That’s surprisingly philosophical of you,” Draco said, impressed.

“I try.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke up again.

“Ginny… _I_ never apologized,” he began haltingly. The old Draco wouldn’t have apologized, but then again, he wasn’t the old Draco now, was he? He looked down at his lap for a minute before looking up again. “I’m sorry for- for ever making fun of your family, or your wealth, or your clothes. And I’m sorry Lucius almost got you killed your first year. And I’m sorry _I_ almost killed Wea- Ronald that sixth year. And I’m so sorry about what Greyback did to your brother. I’m sorry your friends were imprisoned in our dungeons and I’m sorry the rest of you had to go through all of the Carrows’ sick games.” He paused for a breath but before he could continue, Ginny gave him a hard punch to the arm.

“Well, ouch,” he said dumbly as he tenderly rubbed his bruised arm.

Ginny shrugged. “I had a feeling you were going to find more things to apologize about and frankly I couldn’t be arsed to listen to it all. I forgive you, Drakes. Water under the bridge.”

“Please, never call me that again.”

Ginny laughed. “Yeah, it _did_ sound a tad odd.”

Draco leant back on his palms and closed his eyes. He could hear the adults laughing about something and it warmed him to know that his mother was having a good time. Arthur Weasley had been as gracious and welcoming as his wife, and it was almost strange to remember the intense animosity he and Lucius had shared. It truly was a testament of Arthur’s good character that he was willing to overlook the unsavoury history between the Malfoys and Weasleys with such cordiality.

“Your mum’s pretty different from how I expected,” Ginny spoke up, and Draco opened his eyes to see her nodding towards the inside of the cottage. “I used to think she didn’t know how to smile, let alone laugh.”

Draco smiled fondly as he thought of his mother’s pretty smile, much more apparent these past months. “She used to smile a lot more when I was small. Things changed after that.”

“Ah.”

“Funny thing is, I never noticed how much she’d changed until I saw her finding herself again.”

“It was the same with Mum. I never noticed just how worried she was until after the War was over. For one thing, she doesn’t glance at the clock every five minutes anymore.”

“The clock?”

Ginny went back inside for a moment and returned with a large wall clock in her hands. She placed it on Draco’s lap and he stared at in awe, tracing a finger delicately along its surface. “It’s brilliant,” he whispered as a pleasant thrum of magic emanated from it, and he took in the many hands. Ginny’s and her parents’ pointed at ‘Home’ and her brothers were at ‘Work’ or ‘Travelling’. Except not all of them, he suddenly realized with a sick lurch, his eyes landing on the hand that pointed to ‘Lost’. Fred Weasley’s picture was darkened and unmoving, his face frozen in a roguish smile. While the other hands seemed to quiver with spirit, this one was still.

When Draco lifted his gaze, it was with a jolt that he remembered Ginny. She was looking at Fred’s hand with a sad little smile gracing her face, pained brown eyes glistening brightly. Draco swallowed and then looked back at the clock, wondering at the pain the family must feel every time they looked at the clock and its ever-present reminder.

“I, er, forgot you had a sixth brother,” he finally said, lamely, in his opinion, as he gestured at ‘Charlie’. Ginny, however, looked grateful for the change of subject. She hastily wiped at her eyes with a shaky laugh and Draco stiffened when she casually leant against him. Such nonchalant familiarity wasn’t something he expected coming from someone who wasn’t Pansy or Blaise, but then again, the Gryffindors had been a somewhat in-your-space lot.

“Charlie’s the second eldest in the family,” Ginny told him. “He works with dragons in Romania and he’s bloody brilliant with them.” There was evident pride in her voice and Draco nodded, vaguely remembering the redheaded dragon trainer who had come to Hogwarts during the Triwizard tournament.

“His work keeps him away a lot though,” she went on with a sigh. “We’ve gotten used to it but I do miss him. He was always fun to be around; kind of like the twins but more of a friend-to-the-world rather than a full-blown prankster.” She brightened up suddenly. “Though he _is_ coming back in a few days. He got some time off so you might get to meet him eventually.”

Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to meet any of her brothers but he nodded nonetheless. The back door opened and Molly came out, levitating an enormous tray that she placed between the two of them. It was piled high with all kind of buns, slices of crisp toast, eggs, bacon, slices of cured meat, a platoon of small pies, a bowl of salad and a large plate of fruit tarts.

“I thought you might like to have your meal out here, dearies,” Molly said with a beaming smile.

“Thanks, Mum.” Ginny was already piling food onto her plate and she gestured at Draco to do the same. “I’ll bring the tray in when we’re done.”

“Make sure Draco eats a lot,” Molly ordered, giving him a disapproving look. “The child is much too thin and we simply _must_ fatten him up. Narcissa says he eats far too little.”

“He’ll be properly stuffed when I’m done with him,” Ginny promised, giving him a slightly terrifying grin. Satisfied, Molly gave him a pat and then went back in, taking the clock with her.

“I eat enough,” Draco huffed defensively. “It’s not my fault I never get fat. I quite like my build as it is.”

“You mean starved and wasted?”

“I like to consider myself _lean_.”

“Whatever you say.”

They ate in silence except for the occasional remark about how good the food was. Merlin, he wondered at the Weasleys not being fat as stuffed pigs if they ate this kind of food every day. When they were done, Draco leant back on his hands with a contented sigh.

“I think you can truthfully tell your mother that I am indeed ‘stuffed’. I think I even have a belly bulge!” He scrutinized his stomach thoughtfully. “I’ve never had one before.”

Ginny stared at him for a long moment before breaking into peals of laughter.

“What?” Draco demanded, extremely unnerved.

“Godric, who would have thought,” Ginny wheezed.

“Who would have thought _what_?”

“Who would have thought that underneath all that Malfoy-ness, there’d be a real nutter.”

“I prefer the term _individualist_ ,” Draco sniffed, but this seemed to only amuse her even more. He gave her his best glare, although to little effect. “You know, you’re quite different from what I expected as well.”

“But not in a bad way?”

“Not in a bad way,” he admitted reluctantly. “You’re surprisingly good company. For a Gryffindor.”

“Well, aren’t you a charmer,” Ginny simpered and gave him an exaggerated wink. “You better not have fallen for me, pretty boy, for I am regrettably a taken woman.”

“No chance of that,” he replied with a snort. “You’re a little too female for my taste.”

Draco probably should have exercised a little caution here, but the words had already left his mouth by the time his self-preservation came into play. He watched Ginny cautiously, unsure of how she would react to his abrupt coming out. He’d never made his preferences a secret, but he hadn’t broadcasted them either and it was unlikely Ginny had heard about him.

“So you’re gay?” Ginny observed with an unconcerned air that immediately put Draco at ease.

“Yeah, I am. Wasn’t it obvious?”

“Just because you’re clean and look after your hair and skin doesn’t make you gay,” Ginny said with one shouldered shrug. “I mean, take Charlie for instance. He’s probably the roughest out of all the Weasley men but he’s also as queer as a magenta hippogriff.”

Draco choked. “ _Really_?”

Ginny nodded. “Though I’ll admit, I did have my suspicions of you. Gay, huh? Interesting.”

_Interesting?_

“Does your mum know about it?” Ginny asked curiously.

“I came out to her the same year I realized that I was gay. I blurted it out during a family dinner. Lucius didn’t take it too well.”

Ginny’s face scrunched up in a grimace. “That must have ended ugly.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Draco answered slowly, considering the matter. “Lucius may have thrown a fit and smashed up the table but Mother came to my room later that night and told me that it was perfectly alright. There was the matter of my marriage contract but she said we’d deal with that hurdle when the time came.”

“Marriage contract,” Ginny echoed. “Wow, being a proper Pureblood sounds _difficult_. Never been more thankful to be a ‘blood traitor’.”

Draco wasn’t sure how to respond to this. He’d never heard someone accept the title as if it were something to be proud of. Although… the Weasleys probably _were_ proud of it. Instead of continuing on as archaic bigots stuck too firmly in the old ways, they were accepting and unprejudiced, both of which were admirable traits to have.

Ginny stood up abruptly, startling Draco and almost making him fall over. He glared at her as he caught himself just in time and she grinned back, stepping out from under the porch roof. Her hair almost looked like it was on fire from the way the sunlight set it ablaze.

“Perfect conditions for flying,” she remarked, turning her face up to look at the clear sky with nary a cloud in sight. “We’ve been sitting down on our arses for too long and I feel stiff. Fancy a flight? I’ll even let you use my usual broom while I take the old one.”

Draco stood up and stretched luxuriously, sighing as his back popped in a satisfying way. “I don’t need a new broom to beat you,” he said, adopting his old, haughty drawl. “I’ll take the old one and you’ll still be eating my tail bristles.”

A competitive gleam came into Ginny’s eyes. “No, I think we should make this a fair game. What’s your broom model?”

“Firebolt. I still haven’t gotten on to buying a newer model.”

“Perfect.” Ginny nodded. “I’m still using the Firebolt Harry got me for my last birthday. How about you go get your broom quickly and we have ourselves a Seeker’s game? You can use our Floo.”

“Capital idea Weasley, though I must warn you, you will lose.”

Ginny smirked. “We’ll see, Malfoy. We will see.”

* * *

Draco let out a hissed curse as he pulled his broom up short. Ginny triumphantly held up her hand, the fluttering Snitch still struggling to get loose.

“I win.”

Draco sniffed. “Just because you won the last two games doesn’t mean you’re on some sort of a streak. Must I remind you that I won the first two games?”

Ginny brought her broom closer. “I may have gone easy on you those two times,” she admitted with a sheepish shrug.

Draco’s jaw dropped in outrage. “I do not need to be gone easy on!”

“Well you seemed a bit– actually, _very_ rusty. Sorry, but I felt bad for you.”

Draco took in her earnest expression and sighed. “I suppose that was… kind of you,” he bit out grudgingly. “Deals a rather solid blow to my pride, but in my defence, I haven’t been on a broom since…”

Fire, so hot and so close. Screams and shrieks coming from all directions. Vince’s face as he lost his grip on the ledge. Fear, panic, a sense of despair. And then a hand reaching out to him. A back against his front, solid and comforting…

Draco gave himself a sharp mental slap.

“…awhile.”

“I guess I do have an unfair advantage,” Ginny accepted, manoeuvring her broom closer. “I get a lot of flying done at school after all.”

“I forgot you went back,” Draco said, releasing his hold on his broom to shake out his cramped fingers. He really was severely out of fitness. “Did many of my year return?”

“Well, not that many seventh and eighth year Slytherins came back, but almost everyone else from the other Houses returned. Ron and Harry didn’t though, and Hermione still grouches about that.”

“They didn’t?” This was news to Draco. He’d assumed the Golden Trio were living it up at Hogwarts, basking in the adoration that they’d surely get from the rest of the students.

Ginny shook her head. “Ron’s helping George out at the shop, and Harry’s gone into Auror training.”

“Typical Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes. “I suppose saving the world from the deadliest Dark wizard of all times wasn’t enough for him.”

“That’s Harry for you,” Ginny said with a fond smile, and Draco remembered that the two of them had become a couple during sixth year. Well, good for Potter. To think the messy-haired git could actually land a catch like Ginny Weasley.

“He doesn’t need to work either. He has more than enough money to live a life of leisure but he’s never been one to be able to stay in one place for too long. Always so restless.”

“From the way he used to dress, you’d never figure Potter was swimming in galleons. It explains how he could afford to get you such an extravagant gift though.”

Ginny shot him a flat look. “Isn’t it bad form to think about the worth of other people’s vaults?”

“It probably is,” Draco replied with an unabashed smirk. “But I’ve been taught that it’s always good to know the financial status of people of interest. It comes in handy going both ways; when one is _in need_ of money, or planning on gaining favour _using_ money. How do you think the Malfoys stayed so rich?”

“You know, you’re sort of terrifying when you talk like that,” Ginny told him seriously. “You’d make a brilliant banker. I’m sure the goblins would love you for your ruthlessness.”

Draco laughed. “Too bad for them, I have no interest in going into finance.”

Ginny looked out at where the sun was already starting to set. “Shall we call it a draw and stop for the day? It’ll be dark soon and I need to service my broomstick before I put it away.”

Draco nodded and followed her down to the ground. He dismounted his broom and winced as his sore muscles made themselves known. He’d need a long hot bath when he got home.

“I use this broom so often, it’d probably fall apart if I didn’t routinely service it,” Ginny explained as she reached into her servicing kit and pulled out a pair of twig clippers.

“Couldn’t Potter just buy you another one?” Draco helped himself to a tin of polisher, spreading it along his handle with a soft brush. “You should ask for a newer model.”

“I’m not really one for accepting big expensive gifts usually,” Ginny replied with a wry look, snipping away at her broom. “But Harry was adamant I accept this, so I did. It’s to ‘make up’ for not getting me a birthday present last year.” She rolled her eyes. “Because _obviously_ I was expecting one with the War going on and all. My gift to him that year wasn’t something to crow about either, more’s the pity.”

“Why, what did you get him?” Draco asked curiously, intrigued by the mild blush that had come across the bridge of her freckled nose. Ginny gave an embarrassed laugh.

“Of all the cliché things, I actually gave him a bloody _kiss_ for his birthday.”

Draco tried to bite back a laugh but ultimately failed. “If I spread this little titbit of information around, I’m sure you’d lose your image.”

“You best not tell anyone about what I just told you then,” Ginny shot back with a dangerous smile. “I still throw a mean Bat-Bogey Hex.”

Draco shuddered at the thought. “My lips are sealed. And anyways, you can always try to make up for it this year.”

“Oh, I will. A proper splurge, in fact,” she declared gleefully. “I worked at George’s shop for a while before school began and I’ve saved up quite a lot. I’m going all out with everyone’s birthday presents this year. You know, I used to think that presents were a superficial way of showing love and so I didn’t put so much effort before. The family never minded but I’ve had boyfriends who thought it meant I didn’t care for them. Hoping to change that this year and get him something to show just how much he means to me.”

Although Draco was loathe to admit it, he actually thought it was quite sweet that Ginny was being so earnest about it all.

“It’s bloody difficult to shop for him though,” she added with a groan.

“The thirty-first of July is still a few months away; you have time.” Draco waved his hand dismissively.

“I’m surprised you even know his birthday,” Ginny replied, giving him a quizzical look.

“I’m pretty sure everyone knows his birthday by now,” he shot back dryly. “He _is_ kind of a war hero and all.”

“Suppose you’re right.” She set the clipper down and began polishing her broom handle. “Did you know that Nev and Harry have the same birthday?”

Draco shook his head. He hadn’t actually.

“I always thought it must be kind of nice to share it with a friend like that,” she continued. “Wouldn’t you like that too?”

“I would not, as a matter of fact.” Draco shuddered at the very thought. “It would mean the day wasn’t completely unique to me.”

“That’s complete shite,” Ginny snorted. “There must be loads of people out there that share your birthday, whenever it may be, and–”

“June fifth,” Draco supplied helpfully. “I shall be expecting a present, of course.”

“I’m no Seer but I predict that shopping for you will be an absolute nightmare,” she said wryly. “Anyways, what I meant was, you cannot be the only baby that was born on that day.”

“Yes, but I don’t _know_ anyone who shares my birthday, thereby allowing me to consider that day to be mine alone.”

Ginny stared for a moment before closing her eyes with a pained expression. “Trying to understand your thought processes is giving me a headache.”

“That is something that happens to everyone,” a cool voice spoke up from behind them.

Draco looked up with a scowl. “Mother, must you always side against me?”

“Darling, I make it a habit to speak as honestly as I can at all times.”

Ginny laughed and Draco was tempted to throw the polish at her.

“I came to call you in, Draco,” his mother continued. “It’s about time we left.”

To his surprise, he felt quite reluctant to do so and Ginny must have felt the same as she spoke up at once.

“Oh, but I’m sure you can stay for dinner. Mum always makes too much food anyways.”

Narcissa smiled apologetically. “Molly made the same suggestion but I’ve a dinner arrangement with my sister today. Perhaps another time.”

Draco had forgotten about dinner with his aunt and cousin, and much as he was enjoying Ginny’s company, he was also immensely fond of any time spent with his little cousin. He rose to his feet.

“Sorry, Ginny, but Teddy will be expecting me.”

Ginny nodded understandably. “Well, _I_ will be expecting you here as soon as possible. You’re surprisingly good company. For a Slytherin,” she added with a smirk.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

* * *

True to her word, Ginny made sure Draco visited as soon as he could – which happened to be the very next day. They spent nearly the whole visit in the sky and Draco could practically feel himself shaking off the rust of too many months with little exercise. Afterwards, they’d lounged out in the garden, eating the warm cream buns Molly brought out to them. Draco had never felt so contented as then, lazing about in the sun-warmed grass without a care in the world.

The next day followed a similar routine, although Molly brought them mini apple pies for a change.

The day after, more flying and delicious macaroons.

Before he even knew it, a week had gone by and he’d spent every day in the company of Ginny Weasley. What made the whole thing so surreal was how _easily_ they’d slipped into routine, almost as if they’d known each other for years. Of course, they _had_ known each other for years, but in Draco’s opinion, unconcealed contempt and brutal hostility didn’t really count as an acquaintance.

Of course, it also helped that he’d yet to meet any of the other Weasley men, but alas, it seemed that was going to change very soon. A week’s company seemed to be enough for Ginny to want to officially introduce Draco to the rest of the family, and she sprang that particular idea on him when they were sitting in the kitchen eating hot buttered scones.

Needless to say, he choked.

“Don’t you think we’re moving too fast?” he spluttered after he’d coughed his lungs raw and had Ginny pounding on his back with a rather terrifying amount of strength. “I mean, we’ve only known each other for _a_ _week_.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Draco,” she began slowly. “You are going to meet my brothers and that is final.”

“But I don’t want to! I am _much_ too young to die.”

“Merlin, you’re overdramatic.” Ginny actually rolled her eyes at him. “This is ridiculous and you’re acting like a baby. Buck up and stop being such a coward.”

“You call it cowardice, I call it self-preservation,” Draco retorted shortly.

“Oh, no, snake boy, you are not chalking this down to ‘I am a Slytherin and that’s what we do’. You’re coming for the Quidditch game tomorrow and if you keep fussing, I promise you I’ll set Mum on you faster than you can say ‘hair gel’.”

“You _wouldn’t_.” Draco levelled a hard look on her.

She met it with one of her own. “Try me.”

They had a bit of a stare off and Draco was the first to break away with a weary sigh.

“The things I do for you, Ginevra.”

“Brilliant!” Ginny beamed. “Tomorrow’s a Sunday too so you’ll get to meet the whole lot.”

Draco smiled weakly. “Joy.”

* * *

“…and you can give my marble chessboard to Theo. He’s sure to treat it with respect. As for my clothes–”

“Draco, stop.” Pansy looked like she wanted to bop him on the head but settled on just glaring disapprovingly. “You are not going to be murdered by a pack of Weasleys and buried in their garden so there is no reason for you to be dictating the conditions of your will.”

“In the event that he _does_ get murdered though, I call dibs on his wardrobe,” Blaise said quickly. Pansy silently stared at him for a long time and he eventually excused himself to the bathroom.

“Now that he’s gone…” She turned back to Draco. “Darling, you’ve nothing to worry about. Weaslette–”

“Ginny.”

“ _Girl Weasley_ … wouldn’t invite you if she wasn’t certain you’d be welcome. Just charm them the way you handled her and Mrs Weasley. You’ll be fine.”

“Pansy, I don’t think you understand,” Draco said desperately. “We’ll be playing a game of Quidditch. Quidditch involves Bludgers. It won’t seem the slightest suspicious if one was to ‘randomly’ smash my head in _._ They can make it look like an accident!”

“And are we sure Weasleys can plan so far ahead?” Pansy looked sceptical.

“Weasel can’t, but I’m pretty sure the rest of the family aren’t nearly as dim-witted. Remember the pranks the twins used to play in school?”

“Draco, you had a noseless, murdering psychopath using your home as his creepy headquarters. If you can survive that, you can survive _anything_.”

Before Draco could respond, his bedroom door banged open and he jumped, almost smacking his head on the grate.

“Oi Draco, you better not be hiding because I’ll still find you.”

Ginny caught sight of him, kneeling in front of the fire. “Not a bad look for you,” she said with a sly look. “Come on, I was worried you’d chicken out so I came to get you. Sweet Godric, your house is _huge_.”

“Is that her?” Pansy hissed from the fireplace. “Draco move, I can’t see.”

Ginny came closer. “Who’s that?”

Draco moved to a side and Ginny knelt down next to him. Pansy sneered.

“Weasley.”

“Parkinson.” And then to Draco, “I didn’t know you still spoke with her.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Ginny returned Pansy’s shrill enquiry with a cool look. “Just that I figured since Draco’s a certified recluse now, it meant all his so-called friends had abandoned him.”

“Ginny, that’s enough,” Draco interjected sharply before Pansy could say anything. “You may know my situation but you don’t know theirs, so kindly refrain from antagonizing Pansy. She’s still one of my closest friends alongside Blaise.”

Ginny looked suitably chagrined. “Sorry, it wasn’t my place.”

“No it wasn’t.” Pansy glared but it quickly subsided and she sighed. “But I suppose you were somewhat justified in thinking that way.”

Ginny could obviously recognize a peace offering when she saw one and she visibly relaxed. “I can wait outside until you’ve finished your call,” she offered politely, but Pansy stopped her.

“No need. He was just moaning on about how he was going to die and if you hadn’t come along, I’d just have to suffer through more of it.”

“Good thing I came along when I did then,” Ginny laughed. “You must have been in agony.”

“Pure torture, I assure you.”

“What did I miss?” Blaise’s head appeared next to Pansy’s and he gave a low whistle. “Well, if it isn’t our fiery Ginevra! _So_ wonderful to see you again. I’d kiss your hand, but as you can see, I’m all but a floating head in a fireplace.”

Ginny looked delighted. “Is he always like this?”

“Unfortunately,” Pansy sighed. “Anyways, you both should be off. Don’t want to keep the Weasleys waiting, right, Draco?” She winked.

Draco sent her the two-fingered salute in response and Blaise tutted.

“Such vulgar behaviour. What _would_ your mother say?”

“Not as much as yours would say if I told her about that night in Liverpool,” Draco returned with a vicious smirk.

“Oh, so we’re playing that game, are we? I guess I should let Narcissa know what _actually_ happened to that candle holder of hers then.”

“You bastard! You promised to never bring that up again.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“Weasley, please take Draco and go,” Pansy interjected with an impatient huff of breath. “They’ll be at it all day otherwise.”

Ginny nodded. “We’ll be off then. Bye, Parkinson, Zabini.”

Pansy actually gave her a small smile and a nod. Blaise blew her a cheeky kiss and then the connection was cut.

“That was pretty nice,” Ginny said as they exited his room. “I’ve never really seen how you behave in front of your friends. For some reason, I used to think you all just sat around morosely when you were alone together.”

“Just because we’re Slytherins doesn’t make us Snape.”

Ginny let out a horrified giggle. “What a way to put it.”

Draco smiled, even as he felt a twinge of sadness at the remembrance of his godfather. “Have you… seen his portrait?” he asked hesitantly. He’d heard that the Ministry had finally relented to having Severus’ portrait join the other Headmasters at Hogwarts.

Ginny shook her head, the amusement leaving her face. “I haven’t had any need to go meet McGonagall. He’s there though, and as intimidating as ever if the tales I’ve heard are correct. The lower classes are frightfully well-behaved this year because they’re so scared of being sent to the Headmistress’ office. Apparently she isn’t there sometimes when they’re sent up and Snape takes it upon himself to lecture the kids until she gets back.”

“Sounds like Sev alright.”

They waved a quick farewell at Narcissa as she read by the window, and stepped into the sitting room Floo, Ginny first with Draco following soon after. He figured there was no use prolonging it any longer.

When he emerged from the Floo, he dusted himself off thoroughly and patted down his hair. He could hear laughter from outside and stiffened, trepidation hitting him hard. Ginny placed a comforting hand on his arm.

“You ready?”

Draco took a fortifying breath. “Let’s do this.”

The rest of the Weasleys were milling about in the back garden and Draco could see that they’d already set up the Quidditch hoops a fair distance away from the house. Some of his trepidation melted away in place of anticipation. If he remembered correctly, he hadn’t played a proper game of Quidditch since fifth year.

“Draco, glad to see you could make it!” Arthur came up and clapped him on the back good-naturedly, a broad smile tugging at his lips.

“Good afternoon, Mr Weasley.”

“Percy!” he called out loudly, startling the slim wizard who had just emerged from the house. “Come over and meet Draco.”

Said son ambled over, with evident reluctance, a stiff smile plastered across his face. His hair was neatly combed back and his clothes in impeccable condition, regardless of their simplicity. Draco almost found himself nodding in approval and he hastily pulled himself together. It wouldn’t do to find common ground with the pompous ex-prefect. Although, Draco noted with surprise, there was a sort of lightness in his countenance that you wouldn’t expect coming from someone who was supposed to have a permanent stick up his arse.

“Hello, Malfoy,” he said in a fairly amiable tone.

“Percival.” Draco nodded politely.

“Oh, Percy’s fine,” he replied breezily, and now Draco was seriously wondering if he was talking to some sort of imposter. Percy reached up to scratch at his neck and his collar gaped for a moment. Draco’s eyes widened.

 _Was that a_ -

“Malfoy.”

The deep voice made Draco jump and he suddenly didn’t want to turn around, a bad feeling settling in his gut.

“Bill!” Percy exclaimed, thus confirming Draco’s fears. “Come to say hello to young Malfoy over here?”

“Something like that,” his older brother replied neutrally, which did nothing to settle Draco’s nerves. He gulped as he looked up at the tall Curse-Breaker and a wave of panic hit him when Percy unwittingly wandered away and left them alone. Arthur was conversing with his wife near the back porch and Ginny was nowhere to be seen.

“Good afternoon,” Draco faltered, trying not to wince when his voice cracked.

Bill stared down at him coolly. “Ginny said you’d be joining us, but I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Well, I…”

“She speaks highly of you,” he went on, studying Draco as if he was some sort of tricky curse that he just had to _crack_.

“Oh.” Draco knew that he probably sounded like a dunce but he didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t help staring at the man in front of him, feeling faint as he took in the deep scars. He knew exactly how Bill had got them and a lump formed in his throat as he recalled the horrible feeling he’d had when he saw Greyback come through the Vanishing cabinet.

Bill idly stroked the end of his ponytail before flicking it back. “When my wife heard that you were coming, her exact words were ‘Do not take any nonsense from that snotty Malfoy. You put him in his place if he acts out’. With a French accent of course,” he added with a small quirk of his lips. “So Malfoy, will I have to put you in your place? Planning on acting out?”

“No,” Draco gasped, and shook his head vigorously. “Just here to play Quidditch and then leave. Eat some of Molly’s cooking too. She’ll never forgive me otherwise,” he said in a rush. The older man let out a deep chuckle.

“Smart lad.” He finally smiled and Draco relaxed in response to the easy-going grin that now graced Bill’s face. He looked so different from the serious, foreboding man of a few seconds ago and even his scars seemed to be less noticeable. He was pretty attractive actually, and Draco felt his face heat up at this realization. To make matters worse, he suddenly felt a finger stroke the back of his neck and jerked away with a shriek, stumbling straight into Bill’s firm chest.

“Wotcher, Malfoy.” George’s eyes glittered wickedly. “Ticklish, are we?”

Draco wanted to sink through the ground, face and neck burning as he hurriedly pulled away from Bill.

“This one’s terribly skittish,” Bill laughed. “Wonder if Charlie’ll be able to calm him down.”

George laughed too. “Well, there hasn’t been a dragon he hasn’t won over yet.”

“Did someone say ‘dragon’?” an unfamiliar voice spoke up and Draco turned to see another redhead approaching. This one was only an inch or two taller than him – as opposed to Bill and George who fairly towered over him – but made up for it by being _much_ fitter than the other two, his muscular physique clearly outlined through the tight t-shirt he wore.

“Malfoy, you might want to pull your jaw off the ground.” George’s amused voice in his ear had him hurriedly closing his mouth – mortified that it had indeed dropped open – with an audible click. Bill and George snickered.

“Well, well, well, _what_ do we have here?” Charlie – for he had to be Ginny’s dragon tamer of a brother – gave a lazy smile, taking him in from head to toe.

“This is Malfoy,” George said in a chipper voice. “ _Draco_ Malfoy.”

Charlie guffawed. “You can’t be serious. The kid’s name is actually ‘Draco’?”

“Sure is. Although, fair warning, this particular dragon might not be so keen on you mounting him.

A strangled sound came out of Draco at George’s outrageous remark and Charlie laughed even harder, bending over and clutching at his flat stomach. Bill gave them both hard thumps to the head.

“Leave him alone. Mum won’t be pleased if she finds you harassing our guest. Or Ginny for that matter.”

“Just having a bit of sport with him, is all,” George said with a careless shrug. “You don’t mind, right, Malfoy?” He put an arm around him and Draco fought the urge to push him off. He had to be polite.

“Don’t mind at all,” he managed to grit out.

“So, Draco, you single?” Charlie casually asked next and George snickered again, tightening his hold on Draco as if he expected him to keel over – which, truth be told, was beginning to be a very real possibility.

“Charlie?” Bill’s voice was full of warning.

Charlie raised his hands in defence. “Relax, Bill. I’m not trying to bed him.”

Draco felt faint.

“Remember, I’m not likely to go after some kid – no matter how cute he may be–” He winked at Draco “–when I know Liam is waiting for me back home. But you know how much I love setting people up, and I know a couple of blokes who would _love_ to meet this one.”

“And you just naturally assume the boy is into blokes in the first place,” Bill remarked dryly.

“Trust me, Bill,” Charlie said sagely. “The kid plays Chaser for my team. I’m never wrong about these things.”

“Wanna be set up then, Malfoy?” George goaded. “Charlie’s hardly ever in the country, so I have no idea how he does it, but he seems to know practically every queer bachelor in the kingdom.”

“I…”

Luckily for Draco, he was saved from answering this by the arrival of Ginny, followed close behind by an unhappy Weasel and an exasperated-looking Granger.

“Draco, there you are!” Ginny exclaimed as if she hadn’t been the one to disappear and leave him to the wolves.

“Ginny!” Draco returned with what little enthusiasm he could muster – which wasn’t a lot.

“Are you bullying him?” Ginny suddenly demanded, taking in the scene before her.

“Why ever would you think that, sister dear?” George hurriedly retracted his arm from around Draco and patted him companionably.

Ginny ignored him in favour of regarding Draco intently. “He didn’t make you eat anything, right? Smell something? Touch something? Repeat something?”

“Might I point out that I’m deeply offended by your poor regard for me,” George interjected in an injured voice.

“He wasn’t trying to prank me,” Draco answered truthfully. “We were all just… talking.” He couldn’t help blushing again as he remembered _what_ the conversation had been about, and Ginny took a sharp inhale. She rounded on Charlie accusingly and he actually stepped back in alarm.

“Were you _hitting_ on him?” she shrieked.

Charlie covered his ears. “There’s no need to shout. I wasn’t hitting on him.”

“He kind of was,” George added unhelpfully and Charlie did not look amused. If looks could kill, there’d have been one less Weasley in the world.

Ginny crossed her arms belligerently. “I’m only going to say this once so listen well. Draco is _off limits_. You lot better not try anything or else.”

“Of course, Ginny,” they murmured in unison and she nodded with satisfaction.

Granger cleared her throat loudly and everyone finally looked at her. She not so subtly nudged Weasel and he stepped forward, taking a moment to inhale and exhale deeply before looking at Draco.

“Malfoy, how nice of you to join us today,” he gritted out in monotone, and Draco was surprised any words had come out at all, from the way he was clenching his teeth.

“Thank you Weasel– _y_!” he squeaked as Ginny smoothly stepped on his toes.

“It’s a start,” Granger muttered, rolling her eyes. She came forward and held out her hand. “Good to see you out and about, Draco.”

Draco blinked. “Oh…er, it’s good to see you too, Granger.” He grasped her hand and gave it a quick shake before dropping it.

Ginny clapped her hands. “Alright, now that the greetings are out of the way… let’s pick teams.”

“Harry isn’t here yet,” Granger pointed out, lips pursed disapprovingly. “Late as usual.”

“But I told him to get here an hour _earlier_ than the actual time just in case,” Ginny groaned in exasperation. “Whatever, we can still pick teams until he gets here. If he has a problem with that, it’ll be his own fault. Hermione, are you playing?”

Granger nodded. “With Draco here, we can have two Chasers for once if I play too. And I’m sure you all don’t want Percy to play again.”

Everyone made faces at that.

“How are we choosing team captains?” Charlie asked.

“How ‘bout the eldest and youngest?” George suggested. “That means Bill and Ginny.”

There were murmurs of agreement all around and George produced a sickle. “Toss to see who gets first pick.” He threw it up and Ginny called, “Heads.”

George deftly caught the coin and placed it on the back of his hand. “And heads it is! First pick goes to Ginny.”

“Draco,” Ginny declared without a second thought. When everyone stared in shock, she smirked. “He’s been flying with me all week. Trust me, he’ll get the Snitch alright.”

Bill grinned wickedly. “I was planning on Charlie for Seeker if I could get him, but let’s make this a little more interesting. I’ll take Harry.”

George crowed gleefully. “Malfoy against Potter, eh? Get ready for fireworks!”

The rest of the players were quickly split up. Ginny was playing Chaser for her team alongside George, and she’d put Charlie as Keeper. On the other side, Bill and Granger were Chasers and Weasley (Draco really could not call him Ron) was Keeper.

“I’m just going to say what everybody else is thinking,” Granger began once the teams were made. “Bill’s teams has a handicap and her name is Hermione Jean Granger.” She raised a hand to silence the indignant protests. “It’s fine; I’m not offended. Quidditch was never my strong point anyways.”

“You’re still miles better than Percy,” Weasley said firmly. “The last time he played with us, he kept trying to score for the wrong side.”

“That’s nothing. I once saw him get on a broom _backwards_ ,” George said in hushed voice.

Granger frowned. “I’m sure it couldn’t have been recently. I mean–”

“It was last week actually.”

Draco smothered a laugh at everyone’s horrified expressions. He felt quite horrified himself actually, but not as much as the others seemed to be. Ginny, for one, looked like she’d just witnessed bloody murder.

“What are you all talking about?” Percy asked as he came up to them, and then stared in confusion as Ginny and Charlie hurriedly said “Nothing!” while the rest studiously looked anywhere but at him.

“Actually,” Granger spoke up again. “We were talking about how I pose a hindrance to my own team. As such, couldn’t we call someone else to play Chaser? George, you’re dating Angelina, right? Think she’d be up for a game?”

“Great idea, Hermione!” Bill nodded in approval. “George, go fire-call her now.”

A few minutes later, he returned with the dark-skinned ex-Chaser in tow.

“I’m so glad you called,” she said gratefully. “My mum was about to drag me to go hat shopping, and she always takes _ages_ to choose.” She nodded at Draco. “Malfoy.”

Draco gave her a polite nod back.

“Where _is_ Harry?” Ginny groused loudly. “He’s going to get a real earful if he makes me wait any longer.”

Fortunately for Potter and his ears, he chose that moment to make his overdue arrival.

“Sorry I’m late! I was with Teddy and completely lost track of time. I– _Malfoy?_ ” He stared at Draco as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

Draco sent Ginny a bland look. “You didn’t tell him we were friends, did you?”

“I may have forgotten to mention that one detail.”

“ _Friends?!_ ”

Ginny smiled sweetly at Potter and patted him on the cheek. “Long story short, Draco’s my new best mate. He’s here to play Quidditch with us. You’re Seeker on Bill’s team. Oh, and I look forward to watching Draco wipe the pitch with you.”

Potter made a strange choking sound.

George laughed. “I think you broke him.”

“He’ll get over it,” Ginny replied flippantly. “Now let’s get this game started! Dad will play referee.”

* * *

Draco circled above the game, keeping a keen eye out for a flash of gold. He swiftly ducked as a Bludger headed his way and smirked when it almost took Weasley’s head off. In place of Beaters, Granger had charmed the Bludgers to pelt about within the limits of the playing field, randomly changing direction every now and then. Potter was on the other side of the pitch but instead of searching for the Snitch, his gaze was firmly fixed on Draco.

He barely resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the other Seeker; let him stare all he wanted if it meant he wasn’t paying attention to the game. The boy hero was most likely watching to see if he did anything nefarious. Perhaps he thought Draco would whip out his wand and start AK-ing off the rest of the players. Suspicious prat.

The Snitch still hadn’t made an appearance and forty five minutes had already elapsed. The two teams had managed to remain more or less tied in points, but Bill’s team was now beginning to creep ahead. He and Angelina were proving to work startlingly well together, while Weasley was an immovable rock in front of the hoops. Charlie was doing fairly alright considering he’d never played Keeper before, but he had next to nothing on his brother.

Draco let out a frustrated breath; if only he could catch the Snitch, the game would be theirs. George was already starting to look a fair bit winded. Chasing required a good deal more stamina than Beating and he was steadfastly growing more and more tired as the game dragged on. If Draco didn’t finish this off soon, Ginny would be on her own.

He swerved to avoid another Bludger and that’s when he saw it – the Snitch sitting smack in the middle of the playing field. How it had managed to get there unnoticed, Draco had no clue. He didn’t stop to ask questions though, too busy whizzing towards the Snitch, urging his broom to go faster as he saw Potter make a similar dive.

The Snitch must have sensed that it was being chased and suddenly darted to the left, disappearing from sight again. Draco pulled his broom to a halt as he lost track of it and turned to Potter. He was busy manoeuvring his broom out of the way of a Bludger and he too seemed to have lost it. Draco exhaled slowly. The Snitch couldn’t have gone far and if he just kept his eyes peeled, he could…

This time, Draco made sure not to show any outward sign that he’d seen the Snitch hovering near Charlie. Potter didn’t seem to have seen it the second time around and Draco decided to take a chance and do a quick circuit around the playing field to throw Potter off. Unfortunately for him, the moment he darted upwards, Potter suddenly went hurtling down. The sneaky bastard had been playing him the whole time!

Draco let out a belligerent growl and he too pulled his broom into a dive. He’d be damned if he let Potter out-sneak _him_! He heard Ginny give a loud whoop, and the rest of the game seemed to freeze as they watched the two Seekers hurtling towards the Snitch.

“You can do it, Draco!”

Something inside him shifted then, and suddenly Draco _had_ to win; he _had_ to do it. He couldn’t fail now when Ginny was cheering him on; when she’d believed in him and chosen him as her Seeker and declared that without a doubt, he would catch the Snitch. Draco had spent a lot of his life failing, and maybe a friendly game of Quidditch didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but in that moment, he knew that he couldn’t fail here. He simply refused to let Potter beat him to the Snitch.

They were level now; arms outstretched, sides pressed firmly against each other, shoulder to hip. The Snitch was so close now and Draco knew that success or failure lay in the next crucial few minutes. He desperately flattened himself against his broom, his back screaming in protest as he managed to stretch himself out even more, but to no avail. He watched, as if the world had slowed down, as Potter’s hand began to edge ahead of his own, and in a last-ditch attempt, Draco decided he was done playing it safe.

In an illustration of pure recklessness, he released his broom and threw himself bodily forward. The Snitch smacked into the middle of his palm and he closed his fist around it in triumph, savouring the wonderful feeling – no matter how short-lived it turned out to be. Without his broom underneath him, Draco’s sudden flight sent him tumbling head over heels onto the pitch, crying out as he did a couple of somersaults before finally coming to a rest on his stomach.

At first, all he could do was lie there with his face in the dirt, fingers still closed tight around the quivering Snitch. He could hardly hear anything save for the staccato thudding of his heart and a light ringing in his ears, his lungs seemed to have forgotten how to breathe and the rest of his body probably hated him now, and yet Draco had never felt more _alive_. He rolled over onto his back and spit out a large clump of grass and soil, fervently praying that none of his teeth had been knocked out by the fall.

 **“** Draco! Merlin’s fucking balls, are you alright?”

Ginny appeared above him, freckles greatly pronounced against the sheet-white pallor of her face. Draco coughed and held up the Snitch in response, smiling weakly with dirt-covered teeth – he was valiantly ignoring the abominable taste in his mouth – and she gave a watery smile in return. “Yes, you reckless bastard.” Her hands closed around his hand holding the Snitch and gave it a squeeze. “You won us the game.”

“Well, thank the gods for that,” Draco managed to croak back. “I would be greatly displeased if that completely Gryffindor move had resulted in anything short of victory. As it is, I think I sacrificed a couple of ribs in the process and shall exact reimbursement on a later date.”

Ginny sagged with relief. “You gave me a right fright but if you can still run your mouth, then you’re going to be fine.”

“Move aside!” Molly bellowed, hurrying over to kneel at his other side. “Draco, dear, can you sit up?”

Together, she and Ginny helped him upright – with quite a bit of wincing and groaning on his part – and Draco sat placidly as Molly gently checked him over for breaks or injuries.

“I don’t think you’ve any broken ribs or fractures,” Molly finally said when she was done with her examination. “You’ve hit your head, though, and I’ll want to see to that. Come along, I have some healing paste that we can rub on to take the soreness and bruising away.”

Draco carelessly got to his feet, only to lurch forward almost immediately as sharp pain shot through his ankle. To his immense surprise, _Potter_ was the one who stopped him from falling on his face, stepping forward and catching him easily. He set Draco to rights but didn’t step away, going so far as to duck under Draco’s arm to take the weight off his twisted ankle. It was a good thing Potter was already supporting him or else he’d have fallen in shock, the situation bordering on unreal.

“Ginny, get onto his other side and hold him steady while I _Episkey_ his ankle,” Potter barked out orders with calm efficiency, wand already in hand. He didn’t ask permission, unmannered boor that he was, and Draco bit his lip as his injured ankle set itself with the sickening sound of bones aligning. Potter flicked his wand a few more times in Draco’s general direction, muttering under his breath, and Draco sucked in a startled breath as some of his soreness left him; his head for one, felt _much_ better.

“We were taught basic First Aid spells during training,” Potter said as a way of explanation, tucking his wand away again. “I’ve healed what I can but you’ll still want some of Molly’s paste, unless you want to wake up black and blue tomorrow.”

Draco nodded mutely and was then whisked away to the house by Ginny before he could get his bearing straight. Harry Potter had just pulled a wand on him, and it hadn’t resulted in duelling or injury. Draco really had no clue what to think of it all.

* * *

“The mood swings are the worst of it,” Bill sighed, taking a long sip from his drink. “One moment she’s all smiles and the next she’s in tears because I forgot to put my dirty socks in the clothes hamper. Thank Merlin it’ll all end next month.”

“So the baby’s expected in May?” Draco wondered how he’d feel if he was to be a father in such a short amount of time. Frankly, it was a terrifying prospect.

Bill nodded. “The Healer said it would be May or maybe even late April. The sooner the better I say. I’ll admit I was happy to get out of the house today. Fleur was being extra difficult and if Gabrielle hadn’t shown up when she had, I don’t know where we’d have ended up.”

“Is she alright with you staying away so late? It’s already dark out.”

“After she’d gotten over her little hormonal fit, she practically threw me out, telling me to have a good time with the family and that I deserved a break.”

Ginny flopped down next to Draco and yawned. “I’m exhausted,” she announced to the room in general. They were all lounging in the Weasley living room, tired from their gruelling match and fit to bursting from the massive supper Molly had provided. She and Arthur were having a quiet cuppa in the kitchen. “Leaving the youngsters to their business,” they’d said.

“Aren’t _you_ exhausted?” Ginny prodded his arm.

“Very.”

“I knew you’d catch the Snitch.”

Draco smiled softly. “I appreciate the confidence you had in me.”

“It was a bloody brilliant catch too,” George called out from the other side of the room and nearly upset his drink over Angelina. Draco lifted his own glass in salute.

“It wasn’t _that_ great,” Weasley grumbled and then grunted when he got a sharp jab in the ribs from Granger. “Come on, ‘Mione. I’m sure Harry agrees with me, right, mate?”

Potter didn’t seem to be listening, too intent on glaring across the room at Draco. He’d been like that for a while now and for the life of him, Draco couldn’t fathom why. It couldn’t be because of the match; Potter was an appallingly good-natured loser and had even congratulated Draco on a fine catch when they’d sat down for supper. In fact, he’d been reasonably polite for most of the evening until this sudden shift in mood, and the only explanation Draco could come up with was that Potter didn’t like the way Ginny was plastered against him. Even now, she was casually placing her head on his shoulder, and as far as Draco knew, Potter wasn’t aware of his sexuality and it probably _did_ look suspicious.

Unable to resist the urge to ruffle Potter’s feathers even more, Draco put an arm around Ginny and allowed her to snuggle up even closer. She smiled blearily up at him before yawning again and closing her eyes. Potter’s face was a veritable thundercloud and Draco hid a satisfied smile behind his glass. It might do Potter some good to fret about for a bit and Draco had always jumped at a chance to get on his nerves. The saying ‘ _Old habits die hard’_ really did have some truth to it.

“So tell us, Draco,” Charlie spoke up conversationally. “What are you up to these days?”

Draco’s heart sank at the innocent question, delivered with simple curiosity but also intrusive enough to have him feeling helplessly cornered. He struggled to stem down the swell of anxiety that had bubbled up inside him and Charlie’s smile began to dim as his question remained unanswered.

“Nothing much,” Draco replied quickly, adopting a casual tone that sounded horribly fake even to his own ears. “This whole week was pretty much spent improving my Seeking skills with Ginny.”

“True story,” Ginny mumbled, half-asleep with her face buried in his chest.

“Yes, I heard, but I meant _before_ that,” Charlie persisted.

Draco swallowed hard. “Well… I just mulled about the Manor. Nothing special.” He wished fervently that Charlie would drop the questions.

“Wait, did you even finish your education?”

He swallowed again. “No.”

Charlie blinked in surprise. “So what, you’re just staying at home doing nothing? Not looking for work or _anything_? I mean, Ron didn’t go back to Hogwarts either, but he’s joined on as George’s partner, and Harry’s gone into the Auror Corp.”

Draco felt completely humiliated and his next words burst out unthinkingly, loud and sharp as he said, “Well, it’s not like anyone would hire me anyways, what with my track record and all.”

The room fell silent and Draco was instantly mortified by his outburst. He should have _never_ agreed to this. A game of Quidditch was one thing, but actual conversation? It was next to impossible when every other word that came out of his mouth reminded everyone of what he’d once been – of what he’d _done_.

“Drop it, Charlie,” Weasley eventually broke the silence, his voice gruff. “It’s not like he needs to work in the first place when he’s rolling in money. Didn’t you hear him? Lives in a sodding _Manor_.”

Draco sent him a grateful look, promptly seeing the mocking words for what they really were – Weasley’s way of diffusing an awkward situation.

“Must be nice to be rich,” Angelina mused casually, and just like that the atmosphere of the room was lighter. “Bet you had a lot of fun as a kid with such a big garden to play in.”

Draco eagerly grabbed at the change of subject. “Not really. I couldn’t play outside unsupervised until I was old enough to handle the peacocks.”

“ _Peacocks_?” Percy had been fidgety and deep in thought all evening, barely speaking a word, but the mention of peacocks seemed to have shaken him out of his silence.

“We used to have a whole flock of albinos,” Draco explained. “Lucius’ idea of course; he said they represented perfection. Personally, I thought they represented cantankerousness – they were _horrible._ I’ve never met a group of birds that were so irritable and vicious. When I was very small, they’d chase me around the gardens if I was stupid enough to go outside without Mother. Probably would’ve pecked me to death if they’d ever caught me. My first Christmas home from Hogwarts, I made sure to chuck snowballs at the beasts until I was exhausted. Lucius was furious but I think Mother was secretly pleased.”

Weasley exploded. He laughed so loudly that everyone jumped and this time George really did spill his drink all over Angelina.

“Merlin’s saggy left tit, I can just see you pelting those peacocks with this righteous expression on your pointy little face!”

That set the others off and soon the rest of the room was howling too.

“What happened to the peacocks after that?” Percy asked.

Draco smirked. “I continued to harass them as much as I dared. Never anything to cause them real harm, just little things to tick them off. When Lucius was sent to Azkaban, the first thing I did when we came home was find someone to take them off our hands. A collector of rare birds has them now. He offered to pay us but I couldn’t take his money when I was giving him peacocks from hell.”

“Who knew you had such a dangerous childhood,” Weasley said with the first friendly grin he’d ever directed Draco’s way. “And I thought mine was bad with the twins as brothers.”

Draco pretended to consider this. “I suppose evil birds surpass prankster brothers in terms of danger, but I’d still have paid good money to see the Weasley twins take on the Lucius peacocks.”

Weasley stared at him incredulously. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re a bit of a nutter?”

Draco looked down at Ginny who had fallen asleep on him and shrugged. “Perhaps.”

* * *

Draco watched as Charlie easily lifted Ginny’s prone figure, hardly jostling her at all. She mumbled something to herself but otherwise didn’t stir.

“I’ll just take her off to bed then. It was nice meeting you, Draco.”

“You too, Charlie. Tell Ginny I had a wonderful time and that I have her to thank for it.”

“Will do.” With that he sauntered out of the room, his sister snoring away in his arms.

Only the Golden Trio remained, the others having left earlier with the excuse that they all had work the next day and therefore had to rise early. Weasley approached him with Granger now, but Potter seemed to have disappeared.

“We’re planning on calling it a night, Malfoy,” Weasley said with a friendly clap to the back. Apparently braving peacocks was enough for Weasley to regard him as a sort-of friend, though Draco wasn’t really complaining. He’d found in him a worthy chess player and they’d have gone all night if George hadn’t threatened to destroy the chess board if they didn’t put it away.

Granger gave him a tired smile. “Goodnight, Draco.”

“Night, Granger.”

The couple left the room and Draco saw himself out the back door. He’d already bid his farewells to Molly and Arthur and they’d lock up after he left. He stepped out into the night and took in a deep breath of fresh air. With so many people, the room had grown stuffy and it was a relief to stand outside and feel the cool night breeze. Draco stepped off the porch, planning on walking down the path before Apparating away since the Floo had already been locked for the night. However, he stopped short when he got the strange feeling that he wasn’t alone. He reached for his wand but a familiar voice spoke up in the darkness.

“It’s just me, Malfoy.”

Draco relaxed only marginally when Potter stepped out from the shadows of the porch like some sort of spectre.

“Whatever are you doing skulking around in the dark, Potter?” It was kind of eerie not being able to see Potter’s expression. Only his glasses were visible, glinting in a faintly menacing manner.

Potter didn’t respond for a while, and then Draco saw his shoulders lift in a shrug. “I was just about to head home.”

“I see.”

There was a beat of silence and finding nothing else to say, Draco turned to leave. “Goodnight then, Potter.”

“Wait.”

Draco stopped and turned to him quizzically. Potter also came off the porch and Draco could finally make out his features in the silver light of the half-moon. His brows were knitted together and he looked anything but happy. “I just wanted to tell you to stop flirting with Ginny. She’s already taken, in case you didn’t know.”

Draco stiffened at once. Oh, he certainly liked _that_.

“Yes, I am already aware of the fact,” he retorted shortly.

His sharp tone must have jarred on Potter’s nerves and he crossed his arms stiffly, his whole bearing going into the offensive. “Really? Well, from the way you were mooning over her on the couch, I was pretty sure you didn’t know.”

“You might want to get your glasses checked, because if they were working, you’d have seen that _she_ was the one doing the mooning. Perhaps she finds that I am preferable to a boyfriend who just isn’t attentive enough,” Draco finished harshly.

Potter took a warning step closer. “You better watch yourself, Malfoy.” And his voice oozed authority. Must have been something they were taught in Auror training.

Draco could have just stood there and gone on baiting Potter but it was late and he was tired and all he really wanted to do was go home and sleep. Not to mention he really shouldn’t have been antagonizing Ginny’s boyfriend in the first place. So he pushed back the biting response that threatened to spill out and took a fortifying breath.

“I assure you, Potter, I have no intention of seducing Ginny or any such nefarious deed. We’re only friends and as you may have noticed in school as well, my female friends often tend to use me as a human pillow, and I tend to allow them to do so. However, if it troubles you so much, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.

Potter gaped wordlessly, clearly having expected a different sort of answer. Draco sighed.

“If we’re done here, I really must be getting home.”

He turned on the spot and when the world came into focus again, he was in his room. He’d already informed his mother that he might be late so all he had to do was strip out of his clothes and flop into bed. He was asleep before his head even touched the pillow.

* * *

“Well, fuck me,” Draco cursed as he ducked into the closest shop and startled a witch who had just opened the door to exit.

The young shopkeeper turned towards him with a cheerful smile. “Hello and welcome to–”

Draco raised a hand to silence him. “Yeah, see, I’m not here to actually make a purchase so you might want to save the sales speech…” He squinted at the nametag pinned to the front of the man’s robes. “…Bob.”

Bob’s smile didn’t falter in the slightest, even as he asked, “Excuse me?”

Draco ignored him in favour of taking a cautious peek outside. Potter had to have passed on by now and… Bugger, it looked like he was trying to claw his way through his throngs of worshippers to get to the shop.

“Act natural!” he hissed at the still smiling Bob and then looked around frantically, wondering for a mad second if he could hide. Finally getting a good look at the shop he realised that he’d dashed into Eeylop’s Owl Emporium in his haste to avoid Potter. He wasn’t sure why he was avoiding him in the first place but considering their somewhat unpleasant encounter the night before, he was sure it was for the best.

He took another peek out the window and saw with horror that Potter had managed to escape the mob and was almost at the door now. Short from stuffing himself into an owl cage, there was really nowhere for him to possibly hide so he grabbed the nearest item – which just so happened to be a cage – and rushed to the counter. Affecting a nonchalant pose, Draco shot Bob a warning glance and hoped for all the world that he looked like a normal customer about to make a purchase. Just in time too, as Potter chose that moment to push through the door, the doorbell giving a soft tinkle.

Potter came straight up to the counter, ignoring Draco as he did so. “Could I have some owl pellets, please?”

If possible, Bob’s smile brightened. “Certainly, Mr Potter! Let me just show you our selection.” He completely ignored Draco as he started rummaging below the counter, making a fine racket, and Draco was deeply offended. He may have been a fake customer at this point, but he’d still got there first! Talk about biased customer service.

“Actually,” Potter called down to Bob. “I was hoping I could get a bag of the deluxe mixed flavour pellets.”

Bob popped up as if he was on springs. “We _just_ got a new shipment of those but they’re in the back right now. If you’ll just wait here, Mr Potter, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He practically skipped out the door to the back.

As soon as Bob was gone, Potter turned to Draco. “Listen, Malfoy, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I treated you last night.”

Of all the things Draco had expected Potter to say, _that_ was not one of them.

“Ginny tore a right strip off of me when I told her what happened,” Potter continued. “Yelled at me for a good half hour I think, and even threatened to hex my bollocks off if I didn’t apologise as soon as I could.”

“Oh, I see,” Draco sniffed. “So you’re only apologising for your excessive rudeness and false accusations because you want to keep your bollocks intact. Such a display of repentance as I’ve never seen before.”

“What, no! No, Malfoy, I _am_ sorry.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time. Strapping apology, Potter. Simply brilliant.”

Potter looked pained. “Listen, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m truly sorry and it has nothing to do with my bollocks. I mean, yeah I _do_ value my bollocks and all, what bloke wouldn’t? But I’m also pretty sure Ginny wouldn’t actually go through with it and even if she did, I bet Hermione would know a spell to restore them and–”

Draco cut into Potter’s rambling. “I really don’t care about what will or will not happen to your bollocks.”

“Oh.” Potter looked like he’d die of chagrin. “Right. Sorry. I’m pretty much killing this apology, aren’t I?”

“You could say that.”

Potter took a deep breath. “Okay, bollocks aside. This morning like I said, I told Ginny about how I’d pretty much ambushed you in the middle of the night and acted like an arse. The only reason I told her about it in the first place, was because I really did feel bad about it and wanted to make it up to you but I didn’t know _how_. I was pretty sure you wouldn’t take it kindly if I randomly popped over to your place.”

Draco allowed himself a small smile. “Reception might have turned out a tad frosty.”

“Only a tad though, right?” Potter actually smiled in a faintly teasing manner. “So I needed Ginny’s help to get a hold of you,” he went on. “And she told me I’d find you here.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “In Eeylop’s?”

“In Diagon Alley. She said you were buying a gift for your mum?”

“That girl really needs to learn to keep things to herself,” Draco muttered to himself, making a mental note to have a talk with her.

“She said I might catch you if I was lucky and I’ve been looking for you all morning,” Potter continued, idly scratching at a knot in the wood of the counter. “Finding you here was pure coincidence. I was being mobbed by some rabid fans and jumped into the nearest shop.” He looked sheepish. “I may have cast a powerful Repelling Charm on the door actually, after I came in.”

Draco shot the door a dubious look but sure enough, people seemed to be giving it a wide berth as they walked past.

“I’ll take it off once I leave,” Potter added, somewhat defensively.

Draco didn’t say anything but after a while he looked up to find Potter regarding him nervously, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, and generally looking completely pathetic. Draco sighed. Salazar, he was getting soft.

“Very well, Potter. I see that you are sincere in your repentance and I suppose I can be a good person here and accept your apology with grace and goodwill.”

Potter’s face was a picture. He smiled broadly at Draco and for a terrifying moment seemed about ready to engulf him in a hug, but thankfully refrained from doing so.

“So you’re buying an owl?” Potter inquired genially, nodding at the cage Draco had placed on the counter.

Draco rolled his eyes and was about to say that he wasn’t buying an owl unless it happened to be an _invisible_ owl, seeing as how he’d selected an empty cage, but then he caught sight of said cage and the words died in his throat because there _was_ an owl in it. A tiny owl that had probably been hiding in some corner out of sight until now.

Bob chose that moment to return, dragging along a simply enormous bag of pellets. For some reason he wasn’t using his wand, even though it was right there tucked behind one ear, and he grunted as he hefted the bag onto the counter.

“Here… you are…. Mr… Potter,” he wheezed.

“Er, I was hoping for a just a small bag actually,” Potter said apologetically.

For a thrilling moment it looked like the smile was going to leave Bob’s face and Draco waited with bated breath. To his disappointment though, Bob seemed to compose himself quickly and managed to maintain his grin. “No problem, Mr Potter.” He scooped a few handfuls out of the bag into a much smaller one and sealed it. “Here you are.”

“How much do I owe you?” Potter asked, reaching into the pocket of the baggy sweater he wore.

“Oh no, Mr Potter.” Bob shook his head vigorously. “Consider it on the house.”

“I can’t possibly do that,” Potter protested immediately. “Please, let me pay you for this.”

“Mr Potter, I _insist_.” Bob smiled even wider when he said this and Potter backed away slightly in alarm. Draco had to agree. The man was really starting to creep him out too.

“Alright then… I’ll, er, accept it as a gift then.” Potter reached out cautiously and snatched up the bag before retreating away from the counter again.

His business with Potter done now, Bob finally turned his attention back onto Draco, but when he caught sight of the cage with the tiny owl in it, he froze and stared at in unblinkingly. Draco shot Potter a questioning look but he only shrugged before making a discreet gesture that expressed his opinion that the shopkeeper was not all there. Bob looked up with an expression of worship and much to Draco’s unease, his eyes were brimming with tears.

“I can’t believe it,” he said in a trembling voice. “You’re actually buying him. You’re buying the Little Owl!”

“Er…”

“I was _so_ terribly miserable all day…”

Draco wondered if the man knew the definition of miserable in the first place. Face-splitting grins surely weren’t the default expression of unhappy people as far as he knew.

“I’ve been trying so hard to sell that owl and all anyone ever does is laugh at the poor thing.” Bob’s voice quivered even more. “Why, just this morning I caught a bunch of children poking fun at him.” He sniffed loudly and Draco narrowly held back a shriek of pure horror when Bob actually reached out and grasped one of his hands between his own. “But now I’ve found that special customer who sees him as the _majestic_ creature that he is.”

The owl gave a hoot as if it agreed with his statement, but Draco thought that ‘majestic’ was a far cry from what it actually was. The thing was a ball of fluff, so small it could probably fit in the palm of Draco’s hand. He doubted it was even strong enough to carry a letter, let alone anything else.

“Oh, thank you!” Bob shook his hand vigorously. “I’ll be sure to remember you for all times.”

Potter quickly turned away and Draco was sure that the arse was trying to hide the fact that he was quite obviously trying not to burst out laughing. Draco tried to unsuccessfully reclaim his hand but Bob clung on like a leech.

“May I know your name?”

“Er… Draco Malfoy.” Could Bob honestly not know who he was?

Bob nodded and his smile took on a whimsical quality. “A beautiful name for a beautiful soul.”

Potter made a bizarre yowling sound and Draco vowed to make him feel pain the first chance he got.

Bob clasped his hand tighter before _finally_ letting go. “I’ll just get you some supplies for him then; it’s a male by the way. Oh, and I’m not charging you. Even though Little Owls are usually quite rare and therefore expensive, you were wonderful enough to want him in the first place and for that, I will give him to you free.” He hurried into the back room again.

Potter dramatically collapsed against a large cage.

“There’s no need to laugh, Potter,” Draco huffed with a scowl. “I don’t see what the joke is here.”

“Your face! Your face when he grabbed you! And– and– _beautiful_ _soul_!”

Bob returned then and didn’t seem the least bit perturbed to see Potter nearly incapacitated with laughter. “Here you are, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco took the proffered bag because really, there was nothing else he could do. He was genuinely terrified of what Bob might do if he were to tell him that he actually didn’t want the owl, and he had a feeling that even with Potter in the room, he wouldn’t get through it alive. With a resigned sigh, Draco picked up the cage.

“I’ll just be… going then.”

Bob beamed. “Do come see me again.”

Draco didn’t trust himself to answer and hurried out before Bob could ask him to stay for tea or something. Potter followed him, his amusement having subsided to weak giggles now, and Draco glared at him. People on the street were giving them curious looks and Draco thought it served Potter right if he ended up on the cover of the Prophet looking on the verge of an epileptic fit.

“Okay,” Potter finally wheezed, bending over with his hands on his knees. “Okay, I’m done.”

Draco affected a faux concerned look. “Oh no, please don’t stop on my account. _Do_ carry on.”

Potter grimaced. “Don’t think I can actually. My stomach aches like you wouldn’t believe, and my cheeks feel like they’re permanently out of place.”

“How unfortunate.”

“It’s quite painful actually.”

“I’m sure it is.”

Potter laughed and then groaned. “Don’t make me laugh again, Malfoy.”

Draco found himself smiling in response. “I was contemplating how to punish you for your little laughing fit back in the shop but I see the answer is more laughter. How deliciously ironic.”

“Hey, you have to admit that was funny.” Potter raised his hands in surrender, palms facing upwards. “Although, Bob _is_ a bit of an acquired taste.”

Draco pursed his lips in distaste. “The thing that threw me off the most about that whole conversation was the fact that he didn’t appear to know who I was. Has he been living under a rock all this time?”

“More like he lived abroad for most of his life,” Potter replied. “Didn’t you catch a bit of an Australian undertone to his accent?”

Now that he thought of it, Draco _had_ found something noticeably different in Bob’s accent. If it hadn’t been for Bob’s perpetually happy tone, he might have even found it to be moderately attractive. “I suppose I did,” he acknowledged, and then gave Potter a searching sideways glance. “And why exactly do you know so much about dear Bob?”

“I came here for some supplies a couple of weeks ago and Bob was the one at the counter. He didn’t know who I was either but this other customer came up to me and asked for my autograph.” Potter let out a resigned sigh. “Bob asked me if I was a celebrity or something and the witch who I’d given the autograph took it upon herself to relate my entire life story to him.”

“So you got yourself another little fan afterwards?”

Potter smirked and nodded at the shop. “Well, he’s definitely _your_ fan now.”

Draco looked back in through the window and found Bob smiling back at him. He waved cheerily and Draco shuddered in revulsion. “…I really should be off. Good day, Potter.” He was about to make his exit but stopped when Potter suddenly sprang forward and grabbed his sleeve, with a loud, “Wait!”

Draco eyed the hand for a moment and then lifted his gaze to Potter’s face with a raised brow. Potter withdrew almost immediately, snatching his hand back with mortification colouring his face. Draco slowly smoothed out the wrinkles Potter had left and wondered what the fuck he was playing at.

“Er…” Potter visibly struggled with himself, fidgeting and rubbing at his neck. “I just– where are you going?”

“Not that it’s any business of yours,” Draco began pointedly, seriously considering the possibility that Potter had been cursed. “But I’m going home. I’ve already finished making my purchases and want to give my gift to Mother.”

“What did you get her?”

Draco could feel his patience rapidly reaching its limit and he willed himself not to snap as he replied with a brief, “A scarf.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

“Indeed.

“Were you alright by yourself?”

_Oh, for the love of–_

“Potter,” Draco enunciated slowly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose tiredly, “I’ve spent the better half of the morning on my feet and would very much like to go home now, so perhaps you could cut to the chase and tell me if there is a point to all this. Honestly, _what_ are you doing?”

Potter actually had the gall to look offended; as if _he_ was the one who had been waylaid in the middle of a busy street for some inane conversation that was leading them nowhere.

“Hey, I was just making small talk.”

“ _Small talk?_ ” Draco repeated incredulously. “Since when have we _ever_ –”

“Alright, fine! Christ, you never make things easy for me.” Potter let out a frustrated breath and stepped closer, his voice dropping low as he said, “Ginny told me about how the two of you became friends.”

Draco took a fortifying breath and slowly counted to ten. It was either that, or strangle Potter with Mother’s new scarf.

“Those people shouldn’t have treated you like that,” Potter continued, dark eyebrows pinching together as he looked at Draco earnestly, and _finally_ his cryptic behaviour made sense. It seemed Potter’s hero complex extended to exonerated mini Death Eaters as well.

“So let me get this straight,” Draco needed to be certain, “All that rigmarole was you trying to ask me if I’d been harassed during my shopping spree?”

Potter rubbed at his nose and looked away. “I was trying to be delicate about it.”

“Well, all you did was thoroughly confuse me,” Draco told him dryly, even as he felt a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. “Delicacy doesn’t suit you, Potter. Stick to being foolhardily direct.”

“I’ll take that into consideration next time,” Potter laughed and was it wrong that Draco felt absurdly pleased that he’d accomplished that particular feat not once but _twice_ in one sitting? He was definitely on a roll here.

“Also, it’s not that I think you can’t take care of yourself,” Potter smiled wryly. “Far from it. It’s just– people can be vicious and sometimes things go too far.”

Draco understood that all too well. “I know.”

“So something _did_ happen!”

Potter looked just about ready to storm off and bring the hammer of righteous punishment crashing down on the heads of Draco’s supposed persecutors, and it really was too much. He began to laugh helplessly.

Potter did not look pleased.

“I’m so glad you find all this amusing, Malfoy,” he drawled, voice virtually dripping with sarcasm, and Draco had to take a couple of deep breaths to compose himself, quite overcome.

“Your concern is touching – though unwarranted,” Draco eventually managed. “I think word has got out that Molly Weasley’s adopted me and now everyone’s practically walking on eggshells around me. An Auror I’ve never met before even came up to me and _apologised_. He turned out to be the bastard who didn’t give a fuck about my mother’s harassment complaint.”

Potter’s mouth hardened. “Yeah, we heard about that. Clifton’s a right bastard to everyone though, so don’t take it too personally. He oversees most of our hand-to-hand combat classes and if he ever actually took to the mat, he’d probably get a good beating from all the trainees – myself included.”

“Do you have him tomorrow?”

“Yes, why?”

“Well then, I suppose you’ll be pleased when he doesn’t make an appearance.” Draco observed casually, although the effect was probably belied by the cold smile on his face.

Potter looked mildly concerned. “Please tell me you didn’t do anything illegal, because in case you didn’t know, I’m an Auror trainee – as in, it’s sort of in the job description to do something if you’re gadding about breaking the law.”

Draco huffed in amusement. “Fear not, Potter, I’ve been the most upstanding of citizens these days. All I did was leave the lout with a little gift as we parted ways, and for all I know he might turn up tomorrow after all.”

“Malfoy,” Potter cautioned, his mouth pulling down in a moue of disapproval. “I’m not playing around here…”

“Alright, alright,” Draco relented, raising his hands in a placatory gesture. “I gave him a permanent hard-on.”

For all his previous blustering, Potter had grown deadly silent now, staring at Draco as if he was truly seeing him for the first time. Draco wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad response, but continued with his explanation regardless.

“He’s fairly young, quite sickeningly _oozes_ virility, and probably has a healthy libido, so he’ll likely get aroused at some point today and _that’s_ when my jinx will take effect. It’s quite ingenious really,” he added with a modest shrug. “Completely alleviates suspicion and is embarrassing enough that he won’t go straight to St Mungo’s about it.”

“That has got to be the wickedest jinx I’ve ever come across!” Potter’s eyes shone with disconcerting brilliance as he crowded into Draco’s space. “Are you saying he’s going to be like that forever?”

“A good Healer could probably sort him out, but otherwise, it has to be the caster who withdraws the jinx. Of course I’d have to be somewhere in his vicinity to do so… and I really have no need to cross paths with him again.”

“You’re _evil_.”

Draco gave a pleased smile. “Why, thank you, Potter.”

To Draco’s surprise, he’d inadvertently started walking back to the Leaky as they talked, and here was Potter, complacently strolling beside him without a care in the world. Draco almost opened his mouth to remind him that cosy little chats weren’t something they did, but he stopped himself as he realised that he was actually _enjoying_ whatever this was.

“So, are you really planning on leaving Clifton like that?” Potter asked after a moment of contemplation.

“I’d love to actually, but it’s not worth having an angry Auror after me in the end,” Draco sighed. “I modified the jinx a bit so it’ll wear off on its own eventually. Might take a couple of days though.”

“Still think it’s brilliant though. The others are going to worship you when I tell them about it.”

“Ah, but Potter, you can’t tell anyone,” Draco told him seriously, though he was pretty sure his twitching lips gave the game away. “I must swear you to secrecy lest I end up accused of being the perpetrator.”

Draco was fully expecting some sort of stupid jibe in return, but Potter suddenly stopped in the middle of the street and swore loudly. An elderly witch nearby looked scandalised and covered the ears of the child she was with, shooting Potter a stern look when he swore colourfully again.

“Any reason as to why you’ve taken to shocking the elderly?” Draco asked genially.

“I forgot to take off the bloody Repelling Charm,” Potter groaned, running his hands through his unruly hair and mussing it up even more. “I need to go back. See you, Malfoy.” Before he could respond, Potter was already hurrying back to Eeylop’s.

Draco gave his back a bemused look and then went on his way. His wand was in a temperamental mood that day and he didn’t want to risk a splinching trying to Apparate home, leaving the public Floo at the Leaky as the only other option. No one liked him there of course, but there wasn’t a sign outside that barred his admittance (yet), and there wasn’t anything they could really do about. Draco took an inordinate amount of satisfaction in cheerfully waving at the glowering bartender just before he stepped into the Floo.

He emerged in his mother’s sitting room and was pleased to find her already seated in her favourite armchair, busily browsing through a stack of letters. She looked up with a smile and he made sure to dust himself off in the grate before approaching her.

“Welcome back, darling! Did you have a nice time with Ginevra?”

Draco shuffled his feet guiltily. “I may not have actually gone to Ginny’s in the first place.” He held up his bag. “I went out to get you something.”

Her eyes widened a fraction and she motioned for him to bring it to her. He watched nervously as she pulled out the robin egg blue cashmere scarf he’d picked out for her, wondering belatedly if he should have stuck with the silver one instead. However, his fears fell away completely when her face lit up in pure delight.

“Oh Draco, it’s lovely!” she sighed, holding the soft cashmere up against one smooth cheek. “But you really shouldn’t have. I’m in possession of a multitude of scarves as it is, and winter has already passed.”

“Can’t a son get his mother a gift just because?”

“Of course he can, but I still think–” 

A loud hoot sounded through the room and Draco turned just in time to see a small blur of fluff diving straight for his head. He ducked on instinct alone and managed to avoid it just in time, although his mother wasn’t as lucky. The owl slammed quite solidly into her chest and she gave a startled gasp as it literally bounced off her and landed on the pile of letters.

“What in Circe’s name is _that_?”

Instead of answering his mother’s query, Draco chose to stare at the owl – _his_ owl – as it slowly clambered to its feet, shaking its head in a dazed manner. How it had even gotten out of the cage in the first place, he had no idea, but he was sure the latch had still been firmly locked when he’d set the cage down beside the fireplace. Narcissa leant forward to get a better look at the owl and it gave a polite hoot as if to say _hello_. Her gaze softened then and she finally looked back at Draco.

“I hadn’t known that you were planning on buying an owl.”

“That’s because I wasn’t,” he replied dryly. “I didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter at the time, but I might return it in the evening if I can.” Hopefully Bob’s shift would be over by then.

Narcissa picked the owl up and it sat quite contentedly in her cupped palms. “Why ever would you want to do that? He’s simply precious.”

The owl turned its head around to look at him and Draco could have sworn that if owls could smirk, this one would be doing just that now.

“Mother, you’re able to hold it in the palms of your hands. Do you honestly think an owl of that size could serve a purpose?”

“Well, I’ll admit he is rather small,” she allowed, stroking its head gently. “If not a post owl, he can at least serve as a companion.”

Draco snorted. “As if I’m in need of companionship.”

“Might I remind you that not too long ago I caught you having a heated argument with your reflection?”

“Mirror! I was arguing with the mirror!”

“Darling,” his mother said slowly, reaching out to hold his hand, “that doesn’t really make it any better, now does it?”

Draco frowned in response and stared mutinously at the ground.

“I still think it might do you good to have to look after someone other than yourself for a change,” she continued, and her tone brooked no argument. “Now, why don’t you take your new _companion_ to your room? He’ll want to settle in.”

“Settle in– he’s an _owl_!” Draco spluttered, but to no effect as she placed the owl on his shoulder and returned to her letters. She waved her hand in obvious dismissal and with a huff of annoyance, Draco snatched up the owl cage and supplies and stalked up to his rooms, his new roommate clinging onto his shoulder for dear life.

He supposed that all things considered, he could have done far worse in the way of owls. He wouldn’t have intentionally selected such a small one, but at least it appeared to be smart and hadn’t cost him a Knut. And if it got his mother off his back for a while, well then, all the better.

“Well, here we are,” he said aloud when they reached his set of rooms, gesturing out with his arm and feeling a tad silly as he did so.

The owl took off and did a quick circuit through the rooms before alighting back on Draco’s shoulder. It hooted once, sounding vaguely approving, and Draco laughed.

“Glad they meet with your approval. I’m quite pleased with them myself actually.” He entered his bedroom and set the cage down. “I suppose you want to stay in here?” The owl rubbed its little head against Draco’s cheek. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

Having ‘settled’ his owl, Draco found himself at a loss for things to do. Ginny was away somewhere with Granger so he couldn’t pop over for a visit, and as he spent the rest of the day wandering aimlessly about the Manor, he realised that her presence in his life really was a breath of fresh air. How he could have gone about his days before, he could hardly comprehend. If it wasn’t for the unexpected company of his owl, stubbornly following him around like a fluffy shadow, he’d have likely gone mad with boredom. His mother had found it ‘endearing’ while Draco had thought it a right pain in the arse at first, but he’d quickly grown to admire the surprising level of intelligence the creature possessed.

The owl seemed to delight in offering his opinion about everything and everyone, going so far as to engage the house elves in one-sided conversations; hooting away while the house elf in question stared at him as if he was a wonder of the world. He also appeared to be somewhat of a snob, as was clearly seen when Draco tried to call him such things like ‘Pipsqueak’ or ‘Teeny’. For some reason, he hadn’t seen the logic in those names and had only given Draco disdainful hoots and contemptuous looks in response, along with the deliberate ruin of his seventh favourite pair of boots.

In the end, Draco had settled on Mercury.

A befitting name when one compared the owl’s incessant hooting and never-ending energy to that of the messenger of the Gods, known in tales for his speed and love of gossip.

Luckily for Draco (and his boots), Mercury loved the name.

* * *

Having spent the day unproductively, it was no surprise that Draco decided to retire early for bed. It didn’t say much about his social life – all but deceased by this point – that he was turning in at eight o’clock on a Friday night, but it wasn’t as if anyone was around to mock him for it anyways. He might have retired earlier too, if it wasn’t for a certain winged menace bent on keeping him up as long as he could.

“I will have you plucked and roasted!” Draco threatened, hoping that he looked menacing enough.

Mercury simply gave him an unimpressed stare and then proceeded to burrow deeper into Draco’s favourite pillow, no doubt getting all sorts of owl germs and fleas on it. Not to mention the damage his claws were doing to the silk cover.

“You think I won’t do it?”

He received another calm stare.

“You’d do well to know that I never make threats I’m not willing to go through with.”

Mercury opened his beak in yawn.

“I’ll _return_ you. How do you like that?”

Mercury instantly stiffened and huge amber eyes stared back at him accusingly, the hurt in them all too clear. The look made Draco feel like he’d just killed someone and he sighed, practically feeling himself melt.

“Alright, fine, I suppose that’s a bit drastic. Even I’m not cruel enough to send you back to Bob. Though the ‘plucked and roasted’ threat still remains as long as you stay on my pillow. You’ve already shat on my seventh favourite pair of boots and now I’ll have to send them to be cleaned.”

Mercury hooted seriously.

“Must I repeat myself? A _Scourgify_ will ruin the leather.”

He hooted again.

“Well, I didn’t ask for your opinion in the first place. Now for the last time, will you get off my pillow or must I resort to force?”

With a final weary-sounding hoot, Mercury lifted himself off the pillow and landed on the top of his cage. A cage that he refused to re-enter. Draco had tried to reason with him but he might as well have been talking to a wall for all the good it did him.

“You really are going to drive me mad in a few days,” he told the owl sternly as he hit his pillow with a strong Cleaning Charm. Another flick of the wand transfigured the cage into a lopsided perch. “There. You can sleep on that for tonight and maybe if this wand is in a better mood tomorrow, I’ll fix it up better.” That said, he didn’t wait for a reply and flopped face-first onto his pillows.

Draco was just on the verge of dozing off when a loud _crack_ jolted him awake again. He looked up to find one of the Manor house elves standing by the side of the bed, wringing his hands together.

“Blimpy is sorry to disturb Master Draco, but Mistress is wanting you to accompany her in the sitting room.”

Draco groaned as he shuffled out of bed, dismissing the elf with a wave of his hand. _What_ could his mother want him for? He’d seen her not more than half an hour ago and she hadn’t batted an eye when he’d announced that he was going to bed. Feeling peeved, Draco didn’t bother changing out of his sloppy ‘clothes-for-my-eyes-alone’ and didn’t even put a dressing gown over them, dragging himself downstairs and taking care to walk as slowly as he could without falling asleep.

Once he’d finally reached the bottom of the stairs, he was met by his mother and aunt emerging from the sitting room, Cousin Teddy gushing away in Narcissa’s arms.

“Draco, there you are,” his mother greeted, and then wrinkled her nose as she took in his appearance. “My, don’t you look… comfortable.”

Draco smiled tightly. “Was there any reason you called for me, Mother? And it’s nice to see you Aunt Dromeda, and Cousin Teddy too.”

His mother shared a strange smile with his aunt and then gestured towards the closed door of the sitting room. “I was taking Andi down to the kitchens to get some milk for Teddy, but why don’t you head into the sitting room and wait for us? We will join you in a bit.”

Draco frowned to himself as they left him, wondering what his mother was up to. It was obvious she had something up her sleeves and if Andromeda was in on the plot, it didn’t bode well for him. With a shrug to himself, he did as told and went into the sitting room – and immediately let out a loud shriek.

“Potter, what the fuck are _you_ doing here?!”

Potter startled violently from where he was standing by the fireplace and opened his mouth to respond before abruptly shutting it with an audible snap, his eyes widening. For a few uncomfortable moments, all he did was stare openly, and Draco wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously. He was keenly aware of the fact that his shirt was so thin it was practically translucent and so big that even now, it had slid halfway off one shoulder and threatened to fall off completely. At least he was wearing cotton trousers instead of shorts for once – small comforts but he’d take them. He wondered what he looked like to Potter. Probably like some washed-up street urchin.

Eventually Potter found his voice, supposedly having had his fill of staring. “I… didn’t know you’d gone to bed, or I’d have called tomorrow. It’s still pretty early and I figured you’d be free so Andromeda brought me here and– and I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” He laughed and the easy sound of it took some of Draco’s tension away.

“I seem to do nothing but ramble when I’m around you,” Potter said with a twinkle in his eye. “Shall we sit and I can explain myself?”

Draco nodded as he gingerly sat down on the settee. To his surprise, Potter took a seat at the other end and leant back comfortably, completely at ease with the situation.

“First things first, do you know that I live at Grimmauld place?”

“Aunt Dromeda mentioned it a few times.”

“Yeah, Sirius Black was my godfather and left it to me in his will,” Potter explained. “If it wasn’t for that, the house would probably belong to you, right?”

Draco considered this. “Well, I suppose I _am_ the eldest living Black male, though seeing as how I’ve already inherited the Malfoy properties, I would have given the Black estate to my cousin.”

“Mmm.” Potter nodded. “I actually _did_ offer Andromeda the house, but she refused it. She says she was never very fond of it in the first place and much prefers her present residence.”

Draco had been to the Black estate only a few times and only as a very young child but he could still remember the gloom and foreboding that seemed to perpetually hang over the grimy house. He could see why his aunt had decided to relinquish any more dealings with the place.

“Anyways,” Potter continued. “With the help of my house elf, Kreacher, I’ve managed to spruce the place up a bit, redecorating the rooms and throwing away some of the more... _eccentric_ furniture. But there are a few rooms that I haven’t been able to deal with yet – namely the library and attic. It turns out they’ve been infused with old magic, some of it Dark, and since I’m not a true Black heir, I haven’t been able to deal with them. The house doesn’t recognise me as its rightful owner yet.”

“I see,” Draco deliberated slowly, beginning to realise the purpose of Potter’s visit. “And I suppose you want me to help you handle the rooms?”

“Frankly speaking, yeah.”

“What do I gain from all this?” Draco demanded, crossing his arms.

Potter leant forward suddenly, an unexpectedly wicked grin on his face that had Draco feeling strangely suffocated. “I could offer you money if you wanted, or other… compensations.” The way he said ‘compensations’ was almost obscene, and Draco wondered for a mad moment if Potter was _flirting_ with him.

But then Potter laughed and the weird tension dissipated so fast, Draco wondered if he’d imagined it all.

“Really though,” Potter continued more seriously. “All I can offer you is the satisfaction of doing a good deed by helping a bloke out.”

The statement was so _Potter_ and Draco snorted loudly at its ridiculousness.

“So do you accept my proposition?” Potter looked at him imploringly and the full force of his stupidly green eyes hit Draco hard.

“I need some time to think about it,” he finally said, and Potter _beamed_. Draco looked away, disconcerted and unused to Potter’s wide smiles being directed towards him.

Almost as if timed, his mother chose that moment to sweep back in with his aunt and cousin. Draco shot her a suspicious look, wondering if she could have possibly been listening outside the door.

“Have you two had a pleasant chat?” she asked with an innocence that Draco _knew_ to be completely put on.

“As I’m sure you already know, _Mother,_ ” he gave her a pointed look, “Potter needs a bit of help and apparently I am the wizard for it.”

“Splendid!” Narcissa smiled brightly. “How nice of you to offer, darling.”

“Actually, I only said I would consider it…”

“Nonsense,” she interrupted sharply, and then turned to a startled Potter. “My son accepts your proposition.”

“Er…”

Draco sighed. “It’s fine, Potter. S’not like I have anything better to do.”

“Complete words please, Draco.”

“ _It is not_ like I have anything better to do,” he grit out, wondering why she’d chosen this moment to become unbearably difficult. “When do I start?”

Potter scratched his ear. “Is tomorrow alright for you? I have training all weekdays but I finish at four. Drop by at around five?”

“That’s fine.”

“Would you like some tea, Mr Potter?” Narcissa asked cordially, all smiles again.

“Thank you, Mrs Malfoy, but I really should be off.” Potter got to his feet and nodded at them. “I’m sorry for disturbing you both so late.”

“It was no trouble at all.”

Draco frowned. “I beg to differ seeing as how–”

“Please, Draco, no young person goes to bed at eight,” his mother interrupted again. “I was quite embarrassed when I had to tell Mr Potter to wait as I sent Blimpy up to rouse you.”

Draco cursed his pale skin as he erupted into a fiery blush. “If you are finished insulting me, I’ll take my leave now. See you on Monday, Potter. Goodnight all.”

With the few shreds of dignity he still retained, Draco stormed out of the room and back to bed. If Potter had indeed intended on leaving soon, his mother was sure to be in his room in a few minutes to lecture him on his ‘rude conduct’.

As predicted, just as he was beginning to fall asleep again, she appeared by his bed with a _crack_.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy–”

“Save it, Mother.” He covered his face with a pillow.

“ _Draco!_ ”

He lifted the pillow and his face must have been quite the sight if Narcissa’s stunned expression was anything to go by. She recovered fast enough though, and gave him a cold look.

“I do _not_ appreciate your behaviour.”

“Is that so?” Draco sat up in one swift movement. “Well, I don’t appreciate being made a fool of. _Especially_ in front of Potter! You know how I feel when it comes to him!” Draco blinked as he registered his own words. He really didn’t know why he was so angry, but the thought that Potter was most probably with his friends right now, no doubt having a good laugh over poor, jobless, weak Draco Malfoy, was enough to make him want to scream.

His mother sat down at the edge of his bed, her face softening a bit as she took his hand. “Darling, I’m sorry. You’re right; I should have warned you that we had company.”

Draco looked down at his lap. “I already know I’m a disappointment. You don’t need to bring perfect Potter into our home to show me just how much of one I am.”

There was a beat of silence and when his mother still hadn’t said anything, he finally looked up. He was momentarily rendered dumb when he found her eyes wet with unshed tears.

“Mother, _don’t_.” Even as a boy, Draco could never take the sight of his mother crying – there was just something innately wrong about it.

“Draco, you listen to me,” she said, her voice stern. “I have _never_ thought of you as a disappointment. I am never happier than those moments when I am able to say that you are my son. You’ve always been my pride and joy.”

Draco looked down again, but she continued relentlessly.

“I complain about you mooning about the Manor, not because I think you need to be out working somewhere. I complain because it breaks my heart to see you wasting away here with me. I’ve already lived my life to its fullest, but you… you are so young. You still have so much to do with your life and knowing that you live like this because of my and your father’s foolishness, is almost too much for me to bear.”

“Mother, none of this is your fault. Father–”

“It would be so easy to blame all this on Lucius, but I could have always said no. And yet I didn’t, and I had to watch you go through things that no adult, let alone a sixteen-year-old boy, should ever have had to go through.”

Draco swallowed thickly. “I want to do better. I want to make you proud, but it’s just so _hard_.” He winced as his voice broke.

“I know, my darling, but I am already proud of you. Even after all you’ve been through, you still survived with your mind and heart whole. You may feel lost now, but I have the utmost confidence that you will find your purpose soon, and when you do, you will handle it with brilliance.”

“Mama…” Draco hadn’t called her that since he was six years old but his mother made no comment about it, instead taking him into her arms and holding him close. A light weight landed on his shoulder and soon he had a crooning owl snuggling up to him as well.

Draco let himself be held, allowing the soothing scent of his mother to wash over him. Eventually he gently pushed her away and offered her a tentative smile.

“Thank you for putting up with all my drama, Mother.”

To his surprise, she gave an unladylike scoff. “My dear child, you would have to be married to Lucius Malfoy to understand what real drama is.”

* * *

Draco stared at the piece of paper in his hand as he strolled down the street to Potter’s house.

_Harry Potter lives at no. 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London._

The place was under a Fidelius Charm and he didn’t know if he ought to be touched that Potter trusted him enough to give him his address, or insulted that Potter thought him not a threat at all anymore.

When he came to the spot where No. 11 and No. 13 stood side by side, he took a few steps back and stared at the space in between, repeating the address in his head as he’d been advised. Soon enough, the two houses shifted apart and Grimmauld place sat snuggly between. Taking a deep breath, he walked up the steps but before he could ring the bell, the door swung open to reveal a panting Potter.

“Please…come… in…” he wheezed.

Draco stepped across the threshold and found himself in a narrow hallway. He opened his mouth to comment on the absence of the troll leg umbrella stand he remembered from his last visit, but Potter hurriedly hushed him. He gestured wildly and Draco got the gist that he was to remain silent and follow Potter. Compliantly he did so, and Potter led him to the first floor where they entered what looked like a sitting room. Only after he had shut the door firmly behind him, did Potter finally let out the breath that he’d been holding.

“Sorry about that,” he said with a wry smile. “She’s just shut up and I’d like to keep it that way.”

_She?_

Draco didn’t say anything more, instead staring around at the room. It was much more welcoming than he remembered, and he noted with approval that Potter had made use of light colours in an effort to mellow out the room a bit. There was a large tapestry that took up most of one wall and curiously, Draco moved to get a closer look.

“You’re on it too.” Potter sidled up next to him and nudged him lightly with his elbow. “There.”

Draco looked to where he was pointing and saw his name _Draco Malfoy_ done in gold thread, and connected to his parents. He noticed that quite a few names had been scorched out and with a jolt, he gathered that these were people who had probably consorted with the ‘wrong sort’ by Pureblood standard. His aunt was one such scorched mark, as was the cousin he’d never met, Sirius Black. Teddy wasn’t even on the tapestry.

When he voiced this to Potter, the other wizard turned away, his shoulders tense. “Since Andromeda was cut off, any of her descendants never appeared on the family tree either.”

“Oh.”

Potter shrugged and started to leave the room. “Come on, we might as well get started.”

He led Draco up to the second floor where the library was. As soon as Draco came close to the door, he felt a huge surge of Dark magic, heavy and leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Having lived with a number of abominations, just last year, Draco had grown accustomed to such energies but this one was so strong that for a moment he stumbled.

“Careful.” Potter was next to him in an instance, a warm hand on his back. “It seems to get worse day by day. Wasn’t like this before, but Hermione thinks that since I officially live here now, it’s acting up to get me to leave.”

“I’m fine.” Draco moved away from Potter and regarded the door, almost able to see the Dark magic emanating from it. “Some of these are Familial spells and I can deal with those,” he said eventually. “But you might need to contact a Curse-Breaker to get through the Dark Curses that seem to be in place.”

Potter shook his head. “I should be able to crack those. I’m pretty good at it actually and my trainers say that I could go into Curse-Breaking if I ever tire of Auroring.”

“If you can break them, why didn’t you do so earlier?” Draco asked.

“I _have_ ,” Potter replied with a frustrated sigh. “The Familial spells seem to bring the curses back no matter how much I break them.”

“Carry on then.”

Potter made quick work of the curses and Draco had to admit that he _was_ pretty good at it after all. Now that the Dark magic was gone, the suffocating pressure was gone as well, and Draco could breathe easier now. He pulled his wand out and prepared to cast the counterspells to get into the room, but Potter stopped him.

“That isn’t your wand.”

Draco looked down at the smooth elm wand in his hand. “Yes, well this is Mother’s wand. I figured it might be best to have a wand that actually responds well to me at all times.”

“Doesn’t your usual wand work for you? You must have one of your own.”

Draco snorted. “Hardly. It belonged to my maternal grandmother and is frightfully unreliable. Mother’s wand doesn’t feel all there either, but it will listen, almost as if it’s looking out for me.” He broke off before he could say any more, aware of the fact that Potter was now looking at him strangely.

Turning back to the door without another word, Draco raised the wand and repeated the movements that his mother had taught him a few hours ago, murmuring the incantations under his breath. When he felt a small snap at the back of his mind, he stopped and turned to Potter.

“I think that’s about it. Walk in.”

Potter gave a startled laugh. “Just like that? No test run?”

“How exactly do you suggest we conduct this test run? Unless you’re planning on calling someone over, you’re the only non-Black here at the moment.”

Potter didn’t need any further prompting and he suddenly made a dash into the room, much to Draco’s horror. He’d expected the daft git to _at_ _least_ take a few tentative steps first, and he hurried in after him, praying Potter was still in one piece. It wouldn’t do for the Chosen One to die of some unknown curse, the very day he invited an ex-Death Eater into his home.

“Potter, you utter imbecile! Are you alright?”

Potter had the audacity to give him a cocky grin. “I didn’t know you cared, Malfoy.”

Draco scowled, using his irritation over Potter’s flip attitude to mask his genuine relief. “I don’t really fancy joining Lucius over at Azkaban so…”

Potter grinned sheepishly. “Next time I’ll be more careful. Come on,” he gestured for Draco to follow him as he exited the room and made for the stairs, “we’ll break through the attic and then that should be enough for today, I think. It’s much more guarded than the library and we probably won’t have the strength to do anything else afterwards.”

Together, they managed to get into the attic without too much of a problem, but as Potter had predicted, it did leave a toll on them afterwards.

“Cookies and cocoa?” Potter suggested, rolling his neck with a sigh of satisfaction and smiling at Draco in a beguiling manner. “Come on, Malfoy, you know you want it.”

Draco managed to hold out for a minute and was proud of it.

“Only because I’m tired,” he reminded Potter as they sat side by side at the long stone table in the kitchens, munching on the best chocolate chip cookies Draco had ever had in his life. He’d make sure to send one of the Manor elves to get the recipe from Kreacher as soon as possible. “Don’t think it’ll happen again.”

“Don’t think _what_ will happen again?” a teasing voice piped in. “Is it something naughty?”

Potter swung around in his seat with a wide grin. “Ginny! You didn’t tell me you were coming over today. I thought you were helping out at the shop.”

“George let me off early,” she replied. “And here’s Draco too! _What_ a surprise to see you.”

In all truth, Ginny didn’t look surprised at all, and she was grinning from ear to ear as if she knew something that Draco didn’t. Swallowing his mouthful, he rose to give her a hug and customary kiss on the cheek, and only belatedly remembered that kissing her with Potter a few feet away might not have been the best of ideas. When he chanced a glance at him, Potter was staring back with a strained expression. He didn’t voice any complaints though, and sat placidly as Ginny made her way over to him to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“So, why _is_ Draco here?” she asked, taking a seat beside Potter and reaching for two cookies at once.

Potter had his mouth full but seemed about to respond anyways, so Draco hurriedly beat him to it.

“I’ve been called in to help sort out a few rooms for him.”

Ginny hummed in understanding. “I completely forgot that you’re a Black on your mum’s side. Have you gotten far?”

“We only broke the barriers on the entrances for now,” Potter answered. “We’ll probably start with the contents tomorrow, if Malfoy’s up for it.”

“Yes, Potter, I _live_ to be at your service.” Draco rolled his eyes as he leant his head on his hand. “Perhaps Ginny could join us too?” he suggested hopefully, and was genuinely startled when both Ginny and Potter responded with a loud and vehement, “ **No!** ”

They looked at each other sheepishly and Potter gave a nervous laugh. “It’s just– it could be _dangerous_ , you know, and…”

“Yes. Dangerous,” Ginny echoed fervently, nodding her head. “Don’t want to die just yet. And besides, I have… something to do tomorrow.”

“It was only a suggestion,” Draco said slowly, eyeing them warily and wondering what had gotten their wands in a knot all of a sudden.

“Anyways,” Potter continued brightly, quite obviously changing the subject. “Tell us what you did today at the shop.”

“Oh, same old, same old.” Ginny waved her hand flippantly. “Mostly worked the register and the front because George says I _attract_ customers.”

“And I suppose all of them happened to be blokes around your age who are big Ginny Weasley fans?” Potter looked amused.

“What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

“Irresistible, yet sadly not very modest,” Draco muttered under his breath, although Potter must have heard him anyways as he began to laugh.

“I don’t know what you just said but I think I should be offended,” Ginny huffed and sharply smacked Potter on the head.

“What was _that_ for?” he yelped, hastily moving his chair further away from her. “ _I_ didn’t say anything.”

“You were laughing and I can’t reach Draco from over here.” 

“So you hit _me_ instead?”

“Potter, surely you should know not to question the inner workings of Ginevra Weasley by now,” Draco admonished lightly. “Her mind is a terrifying place, I warrant.”

“True story,” Ginny added, matter-of-factly.

Potter rubbed his head with a grimace. “I can now see why the two of you get on so well.”

Draco smirked. “Ginny and I make a pretty good team if I do say so myself. She’d have done well in Slytherin, something you couldn’t possibly understand.”

“That’s all _you_ know, Malfoy,” Potter shot back with a sly smile and then took another sip of cocoa.

Draco’s brows rose in interest. “Oh? And what is that supposed to mean?”

Potter shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing much, just that we could have very well ended up rooming together back in first year.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s true,” Ginny chimed, stealing a sip from Potter’s mug. “The Sorting hat wanted to put Harry into Slytherin.”

“It did _not_!” Draco stared at Potter in disbelief. “No, that isn’t possible. You’re such an utter Gryffindor, it makes my teeth ache.”

“Why do your teeth–”

“Not now, Ginny, I’m busy calling Potter out on the terrible lies he’s telling.”

Potter gave him a sardonic look. “I’m not lying though. It really was planning on Sorting me with you lot. I just asked it not to.”

Draco felt a twinge of regret at that, although he’d never entertained the idea of Potter as a Slytherin. He sometimes wondered what it might have been like to be his friend, but he’d never _dared_ to imagine Potter as a fellow Housemate. In all truth, it would have been unsettling to think so; Potter heading down to the dungeons instead of up to the tower after dinner; lounging about the common room that had so much green that it was practically designed to complement his eyes. Potter could have been in his _dormitory_ , maybe even sleeping in the bed next to him.

And just like that, Draco was suddenly angry; the bitter taste of yet another rejection souring his mood. He knew he shouldn’t take it personally, and really it had already been years and surely he had to be over it by now. Yet, Draco knew that deep down he’d never gotten over the fact that Harry Potter didn’t want to be his friend. His lips twisting into a sneer that would have done his fifteen-year-old self proud, he found himself snapping, “Too good to be slumming it out with the snakes you mean?”

Potter looked stunned by Draco’s sudden attack but then his eyes flared in a familiarly challenging way and he jutted his chin out belligerently. “I wouldn’t say I was ‘too good’, but yeah, Slytherin didn’t seem like an attractive prospect.” He shot Draco a cool look. “Not to mention, _you_ were in that House.”

Draco hardly registered Ginny’s indignant cry of “ _Harry!_ ”, too busy shoving off his seat with a snarl. Instead of breaking the bastard’s nose again, as he was sorely tempted to do, Draco swept out of the kitchen, barely keeping his anger in check.

He thought he could hear someone rushing after him but he didn’t slow down in his strides, and even though he hadn’t stooped to actually running away, he knew that he was still pretty damn fast. He emerged into the hallway in a matter of seconds and soon he was wrenching the front door open with so much force that it crashed into the wall. He hoped the plaster had broken.

“ ** _Filth! Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers!_** ”

The horrible shrieking behind him _almost_ made Draco pause to turn around, but only almost. He practically leapt down the steps and as soon as his feet touched the pavement, he turned on the spot, not giving a rat’s arse if any Muggles caught a glimpse of him Disapparating _._ The last thing he saw before he whisked himself away was Potter emerging through the open door, a flushed Ginny close behind.

The funny thing was, Potter had almost looked _sorry_. 

* * *

A day past and Draco was still in a foul mood. His mother had most probably heard the whole story from Ginny, and she made sure to stay away from him. She must have warned the house elves as well, and as such, Mercury was his only source of companionship at present. Draco didn’t mind so much, finding that his owl was pretty good at listening to his rants.

As soon as he’d rushed home from Grimmauld place, Ginny had appeared in his fireplace, demanding that he talk to her. He’d told her, in as little words as he could, that he hadn’t agreed to help Potter just to be insulted and reminded of his past, and that he had no intention whatsoever of returning. She’d been understanding, if not a bit too bent on getting him to allow Potter to ‘apologise’. He still scoffed at the thought, not needing to hear another one of Potter’s Ginny-induced apologies.

At the same time, Draco also knew that he’d overreacted and quite possibly made an utter berk of himself. He shouldn’t have flared up and huffed away like a child throwing a tantrum, but he couldn’t seem to help it when it came to Potter. He had a horrible tendency to making Draco feel insecure and defensive and uncomfortably sixteen all over again.

The best thing to do now, he concluded logically, was to completely wash his hands of the matter, and he was sure that in a few more days he’d be right as rain again. He’d invite Ginny to go out shopping with him and would forget all about be-speckled prats with stupid hair and abysmal fashion sense.

It was just after dinner and Draco was sitting out in the garden reading. To his embarrassment, he’d sought solace in the pages of one of his mother’s torrid novels, and though he still thought them utter rubbish… well, at least they were _entertaining_ rubbish. Ms Joyce had a certain flair for the dramatic and he’d been shocked by the sheer number of ways to indirectly mention a man’s cock.

His ears suddenly picked up the sound of approaching footsteps and he hurriedly shoved the book under the blanket on his lap, and lifting his gaze skywards, pretending to be observing the stars. He’d once claimed that he would rather pluck his own eyes out with a toothpick before he actually sat down to read a Joyce Gretchin novel, and his mother would be _insufferable_ if she caught him reading one now.

“You can go to bed, Mother,” he said softly, keeping his voice low as to not disturb the quiet tranquillity of the gardens around them. “I’ll come in after a bit.”

Mercury gave a warning hoot from the tree he was perched on, just as someone who was definitely _not_ his mother awkwardly cleared his throat. Draco turned back sharply and sprang to his feet, wand already in hand. “ _You_.”

Potter raised his hands in alarm. “Malfoy, calm the fuck down.”

“No, I will _not_ ‘calm the fuck down’! What are you even doing here? How the bloody hell did you get in?” It was disorientating seeing him like this so suddenly and Draco hated that Potter could make him feel ill at ease in his own home.

“I came by Floo. Your mum let me in.” One of Potter’s hands twitched and Draco bet he was just itching to get to his own wand.

“Well then, I suppose I’m going to be having a few words with her in a bit. Now get the fuck out of here before I hex your bits off and then turn them into balloon animals so you can watch them float away.”

Potter blanched. “That was… vivid. For god’s sake, _calm down_!”

“What is _with_ you?” Draco yelled, his hold on his temper snapping like a twig underfoot. “What is with you and not being able to just stay the fuck away? Why are you constantly barging into _my_ home as if you own the bloody place? And always when I’m in my fucking _bad clothes_!”

“Er…” Potter blinked. “I think you look fine.” He gave Draco a look that would have looked appreciative on any other person, but only served to make Draco scoff.

“What?” Potter actually had the nerve to look affronted. “ _You’re_ the one who kept whining about the clothes. I was just trying to be comforting.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Potter, you’re mere presence makes my skin crawl.”

“Okay, now you’re just being intentionally rude.” Potter gave a long-suffering sigh and looked at Draco apologetically. “I really didn’t want to do this…”

“What–”

“ _Accio_ Draco Malfoy’s wand!”

Draco’s jaw dropped as his wand was snatched out of his grip and flew into Potter’s waiting hands. He’d just been disarmed. _Wandlessly_.

Potter slumped in relief and began to lower his hands. “Now, will you–”

Draco sprang forward with a snarl and Potter gave a low _oomph_ as he was bowled over, completely taken by surprise. His head made a dull thud on the ground and he groaned loudly. Draco grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him half off the ground before shoving him back down again, smiling with vicious delight as Potter’s head made contact with the ground a second time. It was a shame they weren’t on the stone terrace.

“How do you like _that,_ Potter?”

Instead of lying still and allowing himself to be bashed into the ground like a ragdoll, Potter immediately sprang into motion, and Draco had to hastily seat himself on his midsection in the hopes of holding him down. Unfortunately for Draco, it turned out that Potter was _strong_. One moment he had the upper hand, and in the next, he was flat on his back with Potter’s hands firmly pressing his wrists down on either side of his head.

“I said… you need to calm down,” Potter panted and Draco twisted as the hot puffs of air fell on his face. “Stop squirming, you little shite.”

Mercury hooted loudly and angrily, suddenly jumping into the fray with vengeance. He dove at Potter’s head with talons extended, making a great racket, and soon Potter was too busy trying to fend off the irate owl to hold Draco’s arms down any longer. Draco tried to scramble out from under him, but Potter’s thighs were still steadfastly clamped down on his own, and he couldn’t budge. Not to mention, with the way Potter’s arms were flaying about like mad, Draco feared a cuff to the head.

“Okay, okay, I give! Call off your ruddy bird, Malfoy, and I’ll leave.”

Potter gave up swatting at Mercury and wrapped his arms protectively around his head. Draco beamed in triumph and made a note to buy Mercury some special owl treats the next time he was out. “Mercury, that’s enough. Potter desists.” 

The owl obligingly withdrew his attack and perched on the back of Draco’s garden chair, still giving Potter dirty looks, and Potter watched him warily as he finally got off Draco and onto his feet, wands still clutched in his hand. When he seemed to deem it safe to look away, he turned his attention back to Draco, and after only a brief moment of hesitation, held out a hand for him to take.

Draco was almost tempted to rebuff it, but he was tired from their scuffle and simply fed up in general, so he grudgingly clasped the proffered hand and Potter easily pulled him to stand. He placed Draco’s wand gently back in his hand and then, cautiously eyeing Mercury the whole time, he moved to pick up the blanket and novel too.

“Thank you,” Draco said stiffly as he grabbed at them, hoping it was too dark for Potter to have seen what the novel was.

Potter pulled at his fringe in agitation. “I know I said I’d go, but I just– This isn’t how I’d imagined this going. I came here to talk to you and instead we ended up rolling on the ground like a couple of first years.”

“You do bring out the worst in me.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t _want_ to!” Potter huffed in frustration. “I thought things were actually going well on Monday.”

“Things _were_ going well,” Draco shot back, and it was true. He’d actually been enjoying himself. “That is, until you had to remind me all too clearly of how much of a brat I used to be, and that you hate my guts.”

Potter looked stricken. “I don’t hate you.”

“Could have fooled me,” Draco mumbled, looking away with resentment.

A moment of silence passed before Potter spoke up again in a low voice. “You reminded me of my cousin, okay. The way you kept boasting about your father and not making friends with the ‘wrong sort’ and how you were so obviously rich and privileged, you sounded just like him and I didn’t want to have to live with another Dudley. Not after I’d finally gotten away from him.”

Draco didn’t really know what to say. Potter was staring mutinously at the ground and scuffing his trainer on the grass.

“I take it this cousin of yours… he wasn’t kind to you?”

Potter looked up for a brief moment and then dropped his gaze again. “He’s fine now. We kind of made up during the War. But back when we were kids, yeah, he wasn’t nice.”

“And I reminded him of you?”

Potter nodded tersely.

Draco’s forehead furrowed as he realised that he didn’t like this hesitant, defensive Potter, and that he couldn’t just leave the situation as it was. Potter had made the effort to try and apologise for his behaviour on Monday, and now, Draco knew that it was his turn to be the better wizard.

“Well, if he was as horrid as you make out, I guess it was only natural to want to stay away from someone who seemed just as bad,” he rationalised aloud, for both his own and Potter’s benefit. “I’ll admit I may have overreacted as well, and it’s not like I don’t know what people think of Slytherin House, especially after they hear of its history.”

“However,” he added sternly when Potter finally looked up with a startled expression. “That was then, and this is now. I’d prefer not to be reminded of my less than commendable past and I hope you’ll respect that.”

“Of course I will,” Potter promised quietly. “And I _am_ sorry I said those things to you. My mouth tends to work faster than my brain most of the time, and when you sneered, it was like we were back at school. I reacted on instinct.”

“Difficult to let go of old habits.”

“You’re telling me.”

“I’ll come back to help you tomorrow,” Draco went on, ignoring the voice in his head that rose up in protest, reminding him that he’d vowed not to go back for anything and that to do so now was a sign of weakness. The voice sounded very like Lucius though, and that was proof enough that it knew fuck all. “I promised anyways, and I’m not usually one to go back on my word. Even if I still think you’re an annoying tosser,” he added just in case Potter thought they were pals now.

“Pot, kettle,” Potter returned with a jaunty smile, and then yelped and took on a defensive position when Blimpy suddenly appeared in front of them with a loud _crack_. The house elf stared at Potter dispassionately and he blushed, tucking his wand back into its holster and pulling out of the crouched position he’d taken.

“I promise, Blimpy is harmless,” Draco couldn’t resist teasing, and Potter shot him the finger.

Blimpy cleared his throat pointedly. “Mistress says that if Master Draco is finished attacking Mr Potter, you both is to join her for tea.”

“But how…” Potter began in bewilderment

“Knowing Mother, she was probably spying through a window or something,” Draco said in answer, beginning to make his way back to the Manor. “Or maybe she has some advanced spell that lets her observe everything that happens on the grounds. Merlin knows, she’s devious enough for it.”

Potter looked extremely alarmed now. “That’s comforting.”

Draco offered him a smirk. “When we walk into that room, prepare for the interrogation of your life.”

* * *

Draco scowled at the mess that was still the attic. They were trying to do some cleaning before they began sorting through the items, but it was as if the more dust and cobwebs they cleared away, the more still remained. He glanced over at where Potter was poking around a pile of candlesticks and saw that his denim-clad backside had a patch of dust on it. Draco wanted to laugh but as he was probably in a similar state, decided not to. He’d need a long bath when he got home to wash all the grime away.

“I’m going down for a glass of water,” he called out to Potter, making for the stairs. Potter offered a distracted grunt in response.

Kreacher was busily cooking something up on the stove, and whatever it was, it smelt absolutely divine. Draco could feel his mouth watering and he wondered what his mother had requested for dinner. He hoped Potter let him leave soon.

“Master Draco!” Kreacher trilled happily, wizened face twisting into his version of a smile. “Is Master Draco wanting something to eat? Kreacher is so happy to serve the child of Mistress Cissy.”

“I just wanted some water actually, but I can get it myself. You should see to the stove.”

“Of course, Master Draco. It wouldn’t do if Kreacher was to burn your dinner.”

Draco shook his head. “Oh, I’m not–”

“No excuses, Malfoy,” Potter spoke up from the doorway. “If you’re helping me, the least I can do is invite you to join me for dinner. Take a seat, unless you want to eat in the dining room.”

Draco felt that he _should_ protest, but seeing as how Potter wouldn’t let it go, he decided not to waste his energy. He took a seat while Potter rummaged through a cupboard.

“I hope you like beef stew.” He emerged with some bowls and cutlery and placed these on the table. “I have firewhisky too if you want, or I think I may have some red wine stashed away somewhere.”

“Water is alright. Thank you.” Draco didn’t feel all that safe drinking with Potter just yet.

In a few minutes, the stew was done, and Kreacher served them both generous helpings, accompanied by freshly baked buns. The meal was hardly of gourmet standard, but Draco still found himself gulping it down with the occasional happy sigh.

“You eat a lot,” Potter suddenly blurted out, eyes wide.

Draco wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “Well, I don’t usually overindulge but yes, I eat a fair amount. Why?”

“It’s just…you’re so _skinny_.”

Draco frowned. “It’s inherited, Potter. You’ve seen my parents.”

“I think you take after your mum more though.”

“I do?” People always went on about how he looked like the spitting image of his father.

“I mean, sure you have your father’s colouration and height,” Potter said next, almost as if he knew what Draco was thinking, “but everything else is all your mum’s. You’re really slender like her, and you have her shape of eyes and mouth. I only noticed that night she ambushed me with tea. You both smile the same and have similar mannerisms too.”

Draco found it difficult to hold back a ridiculous smile, absurdly pleased by everything Potter had said. When he’d been younger, he’d strived to emulate his father to no end, finding it flattering when people compared them favourably. But as he’d grown older and started to see Lucius for what he truly was, the comparison had grown stale.

“Your eyes are just like Sirius’ too,” Potter added softly, eyes downcast.

“Oh.” Draco had never met his cousin, but he remembered Aunt Dromeda mentioning that he’d been very close to Potter when he’d been alive. “I suppose he and Mother must have gotten their eyes from their fathers then. Grandfather and my great-uncle were known for looking startlingly alike.”

“Probably.”

They descended into silence and Draco began to feel awkward as the meal went on and no words were exchanged. It reminded him uncomfortably of meals at the Manor back when he was growing up, but there was nothing he could do about it. During their impromptu tea party the day before, Narcissa had skilfully led the conversation and he’d hardly had to say anything at all. Today too, their cleaning had been done in silence. Draco had never been very good at small talk when he was ill at ease.

Potter suddenly snorted into his spoon and stew splashed back into his bowl with a wet _plop_. A few drops that flew out as a result came dangerously close to Draco’s sleeve, and he surreptitiously moved it away, handing Potter a napkin when he didn’t immediately reach for it himself.

“I’m just going to say it.” Potter mopped up his spilt stew with a dry little smile. “This is bloody awkward.”

Draco smiled faintly back. “Always stating the obvious, Potter.”

“Let’s fix this then,” Potter pressed, a twinkle in his eye now. “Let’s take turns picking a random topic and then the other person has to give their opinion about it.”

Draco thought the game sounded rather stupid but _anything_ had to be better than what they’d been doing. He nodded. “Very well then, I’ll begin. Early mornings.”

Potter seemed amused by his topic, smile widening into a proper grin. “Yeah, I’m a morning person if that’s what you’re going for. I had to wake up really early when I was a kid, and I got so used to it that I can’t really enjoy a long lie-in even now. That is, unless I’ve tired myself out the night before,” he added with a wicked grin.

Draco’s eyes narrowed at the implications. He couldn’t really see Molly allowing Ginny to sleep over at Potter’s house.

“Relax, Malfoy,” Potter laughed. “I meant that sometimes I stay back at the Academy to get in some more duelling practice. Or I go out late with Gin and the others.”

“Oh, and what sort of places are you taking Ginny to?”

Potter sighed. “The Leaky or The Three Broomsticks, which are both perfectly fine establishments. Christ, you’re overprotective.”

“You might not believe me, but as a Slytherin, I protect my own. I consider Ginny a close friend now and therefore she falls into the category of people I look out for.”

“You won’t find me complaining,” Potter replied with a shrug. “The more people looking out for Gin, the better. Okay, it’s my turn now. Ferrets.”

Draco scowled. “Very funny, Potter.”

“I couldn’t resist.”

“I find them to be extremely intelligent creatures.”

“Don’t forget cute.”

“Bugger off.”

Draco contemplated his next topic for a second and when it came to him, he almost gave a maniacal laugh. “Cho Chang.”

Potter looked at him with grudging respect. “A worthy parry,” he acknowledged and then grimaced. “How do you even know about that?”

“Potter, you _must_ know that everyone at Hogwarts knew about your little crush on her,” Draco replied with an incredulous frown. “You were _extremely_ obvious about it all. Shame you got no action in the end though.”

Potter immediately averted his eyes cagily and Draco’s mouth dropped open.

“You actually _did_ get some action?”

“Stop calling it action!” Potter sputtered, red in the face and eyes wide behind his glasses. “It makes it seem like more _._ ”

“How far did you go with her then?” Draco demanded, and _now_ he was truly enjoying himself.

“We just kissed,” Potter finally said in a reluctant voice. “It wasn’t pleasant either. Too wet.”

Draco laughed at the absurdity of his statement. “You prefer dry lips?”

“What, no. I mean, she was crying so…”

“You made her _cry_?” Draco could hardly believe his ears. “And you still kept kissing her? Isn’t that like rape of the lips?”

Potter’s jaw clenched and he jabbed a finger at Draco. “I did not make her cry, nor did I forcibly kiss her. If anything, she kissed _me_. And what was she even doing kissing me when she’d been crying over Cedric like five seconds ago?”

“I can see this is a sore topic for you,” Draco said as gravely as he could manage, which really was not gravely at all, seeing as how he was practically choking to keep his laughter at bay.

The banter – Draco finally accepted that it was indeed banter after they’d had a particularly spirited debate of the merits of treacle tart versus that of apple pie – went on, and before he even knew it, he’d spent an extended period of time with Potter and they’d actually been engaged in civilised conversation. Now, curled up in plush armchairs in Potter’s sitting room, they were in the middle of crooning over the new Firebolt model when the fireplace flared and Weasley stepped through. He seemed surprised to see Draco there but didn’t seem too bothered by it. He did give Potter a strange smile though, and Potter’s good mood went away in an instance.

“You know, it’s good manners to call before Floo-ing over,” he said starkly and Weasley’s grin widened.

“Come on, Harry, don’t be like _that_.”

Potter let out a beleaguered breath. “What do you want, Ron?”

“I actually came to call you out for a drink with the boys. But I can see that you’re busy.” He looked almost gleeful, eyes wide and filled with mirth, and Draco felt that he was missing something here. Did Potter feel obligated to keep him company and was Weasley making a joke of it?

“Actually, he’s not busy,” Draco interjected, making a quick decision and rising from his seat. “I’m leaving anyways.”

“Wait, you’re leaving right this second?” Potter shot to his feet as well, mouth dropping open with something akin to dismay. He held out a hand imploringly. “You really don’t have to.”

“It’s getting late,” Draco replied simply, smoothing out his trousers and looking around to see if he’d left anything behind. “Besides, you should have a night out with your _friends_.”

“Er, Malfoy… you could come too if you want,” Weasley offered haltingly and Draco smiled humourlessly, his hackles rising at the unwelcome display of pity.

“I _really_ should be off,” he said as politely as he could, throwing a handful of Floo powder into the hearth. “Goodnight, Potter, Weasley.”

“You’re still coming back tomorrow though, right?” Potter persisted irritatingly, words jumbling together in his haste to get them out before Draco could step into the Floo.

“Yes, yes, until we finish the two rooms, I’ll come,” Draco replied distractedly, rubbing at his temples. Sweet Salazar, Potter was worse than a child at times.

“Oh. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.” Draco didn’t look back as he stepped into the flames.

* * *

A few days later, the pair were seated side by side in the attic as they attempted to restore an old toy carousel to its former glory. There was a great deal to be found in the attic, a plethora of items that the Blacks of the past had accumulated over the years, and Draco had been delighted to discover truly fine pieces of his heritage in the most unlikeliest of nooks.

Just the other day they’d fixed up a lovely crib mobile and if they managed to get the carousel back into shape as well, Draco was certain the two items would be perfect presents for Teddy’s upcoming birthday. Potter had initially been against the idea of giving Teddy ‘someone’s old junk’, but Draco had assured him that giving family relics was what was generally done for a wizarding child’s first birthday and that he could offer him more than one present if he truly wished to.

Unfortunately, the carousel was proving to be uncooperative at the moment and Potter looked just about ready to snap and blast the thing to smithereens.

“Why won’t it work already?” he growled, glaring daggers at the thing. “We must have hit it with _at_ _least_ fifty Cleaning Charms by now so it can’t be the rust anymore.” He picked it up and peered at it closely, his face mere inches away. “It _looks_ fine _._ ”

Draco snapped his fingers, a thought crossing his mind. “You know how most magical toys already have the magic implemented into their design, and that’s how they run on their own? Well, I remember some of my old toys weren’t like that, and Mother would have to add her own magic to get them to work. If she forgot to replenish their stores, they’d stop working when all the magic was used up.”

“Just like a battery,” Potter said with a grin.

Draco had no idea what a battery was but he nodded nonetheless. “I’ll start juicing it up then. It’s best done bit by bit or the toy could get damaged, especially if it hasn’t been used in a long time.”

As Draco proceeded slowly, Potter leaned back on his hands and watched him. “Whose turn is it again?” he asked in deference to the conversation game they still played.

“Yours, I think.”

Potter hummed noncommittally and began to tap at the wooden floorboards with the tips of his fingers. The rhythmic _tap tap_ was soothing but when Draco looked at Potter he seemed anything but relaxed, fidgeting in his seat and looking up at the ceiling, expression troubled.

“Alright,” he finally said after a moment of contemplation, the slight uncertainty in his voice at odds with the steady way in which he met Draco’s gaze. “Relationship.”

Draco stilled, blood rapidly rushing to his face. The topics they chose weren’t usually so… _personal_.

Potter began to scramble, hands waving about wildly.

“Just forget it, you don’t need to answer that. Fuck, I don’t know what I was thi–”

“I’m single,” Draco interrupted in a rush, defensiveness creeping into his confession as he added, “It’s not really easy to meet someone when I never go out. Makes it even less easy when I have a bloody Mark on my arm.”

Potter was biting his lower lip now. “And you... like boys, right?”

“I’m gay,” Draco replied at once, giving Potter a cool look. He refused to ever be ashamed of who he was. “I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

“Merlin no, of course not! It’s just, have you been with another boy before?” There was genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Well, he was more a man, really,” Draco offered up hesitantly, deliberating over just how much he was willing to divulge. Potter’s eyes were wide and he watched Draco with rapt attention, the carousel momentarily forgotten. “It was the summer after Fifth year. I was in a snit with Lucius off in prison so Blaise decided to kidnap me and take me for an impromptu trip to the Mediterranean.”

Potter gave a low whistle.

“Wow, when I’m in a bad mood, Ron tends to avoid me and Hermione keeps pestering me to talk about it until I either run away or tell her off.”

“Blaise spares no expense when he has a scheme in mind,” Draco answered with a fond smile. “One day he took me to the beach and then disappeared to Salazar knows where, leaving me awkwardly sitting under my umbrella, valiantly trying not to get too sunburnt. With nothing better to do, I people-watched. There were some _exceedingly_ fine specimens milling about, Potter.”

Potter gave a bark of laughter.

“After a few minutes of general ogling, I noticed that one of them seemed to be looking back. I sort of panicked at that point and quickly looked away, pretending in vain that I hadn’t been drooling over his gorgeous body emerging from the waves. When I risked a glance back, I was further panicked to see that he seemed to be coming towards me.”

“What did you do?” Potter gasped.

“I froze. I literally could not move and suddenly he was right in front of me and then ducking under the umbrella to sit beside me. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the wet locks back before giving me the most devilish smirk I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. He said that he hoped I’d been enjoying the view and obviously I started to flush like an idiot and splutter. I’m not usually very good with people I don’t know, and this man was a Muggle too. But somehow, I felt completely at ease with him and we actually had a nice conversation.”

Potter frowned. “Wait, that’s all you did? _Talk_?”

Draco tutted. “Now Potter, patience is a virtue, you know. Besides, I wasn’t finished. After an invigorating conversation, I suddenly found his arm around me and the next thing I knew, he was kissing me. I’d been kissed before, mind you, once by Daphne Greengrass – I still shudder at the thought – and a couple of times by Blaise when I first identified as gay.”

“You and Zabini?!” Potter’s eyes bugged out. “I thought you were _friends_?”

Draco rolled his eyes at Potter’s scandalized tone. “We _are_ friends. Best friends, in fact, and it was just a bit of friendly experimentation. Now stop interrupting or I won’t give you the dirty details.”

“ _Dirty details_?” Potter croaked and Draco laughed.

“What, did you think that my new friend stopped at kissing? I told you, he was a _man_ , not some half-baked schoolboy. After he’d kissed me until I was so dazed I probably didn’t known my own name anymore, he invited me to adjourn somewhere more private.”

“And you went with him?!”

“In retrospect, I suppose it was a little foolish of me,” Draco admitted with a shrug. “But remember, I was in a kiss-induced daze and wasn’t thinking straight.”

“What did he do to you?”

Potter sounded angry now and Draco rolled his eyes again. Now who was being overprotective?

“Relax, Potter, we didn’t go all the way, although not for lack of wanting on my part. He, on the other hand, insisted that I needed something more meaningful for _that_. Very gentlemanly of him, if you ask me. We did everything else though,” he finished with a dreamy sigh. “Best day of my life, tops, and sadly my one and only real experience with a man.”

“And what did Zabini think of all this?” Potter still seemed pissed.

“Blaise reacted much the same way you did. It was quite touching actually, watching him stalk back and forth, ranting at me for my recklessness. Then he actually had the nerve to fire-call Pansy about it and I had to contend with her shrieking at me too.”

Potter finally smiled at that. “I’m starting to reconsider my opinion of Zabini and Parkinson now.”

“So you don’t hate her? Pansy, I mean,” Draco asked warily. “She did try to turn you over to that old snake-face.”

“I don’t hate her,” Potter replied easily. “We were all so young and lots of us did stupid, heat of the moment things, myself included. I’m tired of the fighting and hate. We’re all alive, that’s what matters.”

“Ginny said the same thing,” Draco said, remembering that first day spent together.

Potter smiled softly. “I’m following her example actually. Ginny’s all for second chances.”

“And is that what this is?” Draco pressed, suddenly desperate to know where he stood with Potter. “Is this our second chance?”

A strange look passed over Potter’s face and Draco found himself leaning in as if drawn by some sort of invisible force. They were much closer now, Potter’s eyes boring into Draco’s own. “I was hoping it could be,” he confessed lowly, and Draco, winded and completely off-balanced in the face of Potter’s brazen honesty, wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

He wanted to lean into the man sitting so vulnerably before him, wide-eyed and unsuspecting. He wanted to bridge the scant gap between them and really take this ‘second chance’ to a whole new level, and he was about to do just that when he suddenly remembered why they’d been talking about second chances in the first place.

 _Ginny_.

It was like being doused with cold water. Draco jerked back sharply, and one of his arms knocked onto the carousel. It fell onto its side with a loud crash and suddenly began to turn, sweet, old-fashioned music emanating from it. Potter gave a delighted exclamation.

“It works! Wicked!”

As Potter began to play with the toy, jubilantly exclaiming over it, Draco listened with half an ear, his heart racing. _What_ had he been thinking? Losing his cool like that and almost doing something stupid and completely unwarranted. Merlin, he hadn’t even been in Potter’s company for more than a few days and apart from no longer hating him, his feelings for him were borderline indifferent.

Tentatively, he looked over at Potter again, but there was no overwhelming desire to lock lips with him anymore. Draco let out a relieved sigh; celibacy for practically two years had left him frustrated, that had to be it. And so what if he found Potter attractive? That was hardly news.

* * *

The days that followed passed in a blur of cleaning and sorting. Draco took Potter to task, firmly demanding that they work interminably each night until exhaustion forced them to stop. Potter had whined plaintively that he needed to get up early for Auror training, but Draco had been unrelenting. If they wanted to finish the job within this century, they needed to pick up the pace. There would be no more chatting in the sitting room until they were done.

Potter complained frequently about the unfairness of it all, and almost as if his whinging had been answered, suddenly Auror training was put on hold later on in the week. A raid gone wrong had left a multitude of Senior Aurors in the hospital, which meant there was a subsequent drop in active Aurors. There simply weren’t enough Aurors to spare for the trainees and this allowed them whole days to work on the attic until training resumed.

Progress increased rapidly afterwards and the biggest surprise was probably the fact that he and Potter got on quite well when not actively hating each other. Potter turned out to be warm and unexpectedly witty, with a wicked side that Draco hadn’t expected at all. He could make Draco laugh, which was no easy feat, and could take a joke at his expense with good grace and patience that he certainly hadn’t exhibited when they were children.

There was still a bit of tension in the air but this was to be expected, considering who they were and the history they shared. Potter’s game ensured that conversation was relatively flowing, but at first they never spoke about anything of real worth; sticking to the most mundane of topics. There were just too many ugly things left unspoken between them and Draco was afraid to bring them up and spoil the tentative friendship they’d begun, preferring to continue as if their shared pasts had never occurred.

When they finally did address the past, Potter apologised for the scars that still marred Draco’s torso, green eyes sad and hands visibly shaking. In return, he’d accepted Draco’s own apologies with a nod and a gentle smile. They finally spoke about the War and the horrors they’d each seen; of how they both still had nightmares and couldn’t sleep unless their wands were securely under their pillows. Draco told him about life growing up with Lucius as a father, always expecting too much and appreciating too little; how even now, he still loved the man in some warped way whilst simultaneously hating him like he hated no one else. Potter reciprocated with tales of his childhood and Draco had listened, disgusted by his Muggle relatives and ashamed at himself for ever making fun of Potter for things that were a result of them.

After that, the tension dissipated. It was as if a dam had burst free and there were no more restrictions to what they could speak about. Draco was rapidly getting to know Potter in a way he’d never dreamed of before, and he willingly offered parts of himself in return.

Sometimes Ginny would pop by and then they’d take a break to chat with her or go for a quick flight, Disillusionment Charms hiding them from Muggle eyes. Draco found that he’d really missed hanging out with her, and watching the way she and Potter interacted brought into perspective how _good_ the two of them looked together. Certainly they made a handsome couple but it was more than just that. They shared an easy connection that few ever did; a sort of emotional bond that spoke of the trust and understanding between them.

Back when his friendship with Ginny had just begun, Draco had not seen any of this. All his ignorant self had seen when looking past Potter’s hero factor, was an awkward, socially inept, train-wreck of a wizard, all rash decisions and brazen luck, and he’d been baffled that Ginny had settled for _that._ He’d asked himself time and time again, how Ginny, who was brilliant and bright, could possibly remain with someone who couldn’t compliment her in any way. It was only through his own acquaintance with Potter that he found himself sometimes wondering at how lucky _Ginny_ was to have Potter. 

Which brought him to the only downside to his newfound liking of Potter – the growing attraction he felt for him.

The near-kiss debacle of a week ago hadn’t really changed anything at first, and he’d chalked it off as one of those spur-of-the-moment things Potter had been talking about. The problem however, was that if that were truly so, it wouldn’t have almost happened again… and again… _and_ _again_. To make matters worse, Draco wasn’t even drawn to Potter on a solely physical level; he’d begun to miss his company _minutes_ after going back to the Manor.

Working in the attic, which had started off as an enjoyable experience, quickly evolved into the very epitome of frustration. Their work consisted of repairing, restoring and sorting through the old items they came across, and it was so clustered that they oftentimes had to work in close proximity. Huddling together side by side for days on end had resulted in enough accidental brushes to almost drive Draco completely spare, and been a true exercise of self-restraint.

It was an immense relief when they finally finished up with the attic by the end of the week, and this also marked Potter going back for training. They were back to working only a few hours a night, and this suited Draco perfectly fine. If his treacherous body insisted on trying to throw itself at Potter every chance it got, he’d just limit the number of chances. He was sure the madness would fade eventually.

* * *

The madness did not fade.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Potter demanded with an irritated scowl, following close behind as Draco stalked into the library.

Draco huffed and took his place on the floor by the pile of books he’d been sorting through. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

Potter gave him an incredulous look. “Well, for starters, you went from standing completely still to spilling your tea down your front. Then you started screaming at _me_ even though I didn’t do anything. And finally you storm up here, ranting about how I should stop slacking off, when it was _you_ who suggested a break in the first place! So excuse me for wanting to know what’s gotten you into such a snit.”

“Fuck off, Potter.”

Potter actually growled as he sat down heavily by his own pile. “I couldn’t even begin to understand you, if my life depended on it,” he muttered.

Draco didn’t reply and tried to focus on what he was doing. They’d settled into a routine where Potter would first clean the books and break any Dark Curses on them, and then levitate them over to Draco to check for Familial spells. Once they’d both deemed the books safe to handle, they were passed back to Potter to be sorted however he pleased. The routine was repetitive enough that Draco didn’t need to give his full attention to it and he settled into a much needed brood.

He _was_ in a snit but his anger was in no way directed towards Potter. He was furious with himself and his inappropriately growing desire to kiss Potter senseless. In fact, the only way he’d been able to stop his most recent attempt was by dousing himself with piping hot tea. Not his best decision but effective nonetheless. All he wanted to do was go home and have a long rant with Mercury. He supposed he should have been embarrassed that an owl had turned into his confidante, but Mercury was a good listener and Draco really had no one else he could talk to about this matter.

“Oi, Ferret-face!”

Draco swung around and gave Potter a venomous glare, rudely dragged out of his reverie. Potter glared back, crossing his arms in a gesture that _should_ have looked like that of a petulant child but instead turned out as if Potter was exuding masculine authority from his biceps alone. Draco bit the inside of his cheek, not liking the direction his thoughts were headed.

“ _What?_ ” He tried to put as much exasperation as he could muster into that one word alone, hoping it would make Potter leave him alone.

“I’ve been calling you for ages!” Potter grumbled. “Ferret-face was a last resort.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine, why were you calling me?”

Potter nodded at a book lying next to him. “Are you finished with that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Draco muttered, giving the book a half-arsed glance before turning back to his work. “It’s all yours.”

In retrospect, Draco would kick himself for forgetting that any form of half-arsery was extremely inappropriate when one is dealing with the Dark Arts, and this fact was made _abundantly_ clear when Potter began to scream.

Draco turned around so fast he might have given himself whiplash, and he was just in time to see Potter drop the cursed book – which Draco had _not_ in fact finished with – and clutch at his right arm, his face rapidly losing colour. Horrible black streaks appeared on his hand and they pulsated ominously, spreading a few centimetres up his arm each time. Potter’s face was scrunched up and sweating profusely, and a thin line of blood dripped down his chin as he bit through his bottom lip, unsuccessfully trying to hold back his cries of pain.

Draco recoiled when Potter suddenly reached out for him, and was immediately ashamed of himself when frightened green eyes stared back at him through a sheen of tears. Shaken out of his stupor by the desperation on Potter’s face, Draco quickly sprang to his feet and almost stepped on Kreacher when he suddenly appeared in front of him. The sound of the elf’s croaking wails echoed behind him as he raced out of the room.

He reached the sitting room in a matter of seconds but tripped over a throw rug just as he entered, tumbling hard onto his front. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Draco crawled over towards the fireplace. His hands were trembling so badly that he ended up dropping the pot of Floo powder and it smashed to pieces on the stone hearth. Paying no heed to the mess, he scooped up a handful off the ground and flung it into the hearth. “Teddy’s nook!” he cried, thrusting his head into the green flames and immediately yelling for his aunt.

“Draco, what on earth–” Aunt Dromeda came rushing into the room but froze when she caught sight of him.

“You have to do something– _please_ , Potter needs– I don’t–” Draco choked and clutched at his throat. He couldn’t seem to formulate proper sentences.

Aunt Dromeda looked grim. “Cut the connection, I’m coming through. Cissy, watch Teddy, will you?”

Soon she was with him in the sitting room and he led her shakily back to the library. Kreacher was hitting himself with a large book and was bawling about how his master was dying, but Potter’s screams seemed to have subsided, replaced by exhausted whimpers. The streaks had spread up to his elbow by now and when Andromeda caught sight of them, she gasped.

“Sweet Circe…” Her wand already out and waving intricate patterns in the air. “Draco, send a Patronus to St Mungo’s. I can’t handle this on my own.”

Draco hardly registered her command, his eyes locked on Potter. Would his younger self have been pleased to see him thus fallen? Suddenly Lucius’s voice was in his head, crowing over the fact that he managed to cast a Cruciatus Curse on the great Harry Potter. Had Potter cried like this back then too?

“Draco! Didn’t you hear what I said? Send a Patronus!”

Draco turned to her, feeling sick. “I…”

“We don’t have time for this, child!”

“I can’t!” he yelled back. “I can’t cast a bloody Patronus!” He clenched his fist, feeling utterly useless. “I’m not– I can never–” Potter gave a particularly wretched whimper and Draco gagged. At this rate, he was going to sick up right here in the library.

“ _Expecto Patronum_.”

A shimmering silver swan flew past him, gracefully circling the room once before disappearing through the wall. He closed his eyes, the sight of the familiar Patronus calming him almost instantly. When he’d been a child, the swan had sometimes sung him to sleep, those times when Narcissa was busy elsewhere but somehow knew exactly when she was needed.

Opening his eyes again, he saw her kneeling over Potter, whispering something to him, though she dared not touch him. Aunt Dromeda was still casting and a light sheen of perspiration was visible on her forehead now, wand hand firmly aloft in spite of her fatigue. Draco looked down at his own shaking hands and wanted to laugh. Here his aunt was, doing some powerful spellcasting to keep Potter alive, and he was the one shivering like a frightened crup.

There was a commotion in the hallway and suddenly the room was teeming with Mediwizards. Draco flattened himself against the wall, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible and watched as they quickly took over the spellcasting and eased Potter on to a magical stretcher. They took him out the door and Aunt Dromeda followed worriedly, deep in discussion with one of the Mediwizards. A lone witch remained and she hunched over the book, muttering feverishly – most probably a Curse-Breaker at work.

“Come, Draco.” His mother grasped his arm and gently pulled him out of the room. He expected her to lead him to the Floo to go after the others but instead, she took him to the kitchen where she made him drink a cool glass of water with a few drops of sherry in it.

“Are you feeling better now?” she asked when he’d set the empty glass down.

Draco ducked his head, fists clenching again. He didn’t know what to say but at the moment all he wanted was to see how Potter was doing because no, he did not feel better now. In fact, his calmed nerves were making him feel even more terrible; ashamed and embarrassed.

“I should have sent a message to St Mungo’s. Why, for fuck’s sake, did I fire-call Aunt Dromeda instead?”

Narcissa frowned. “Language, Draco.”

“That curse spreads with _time_ , Mother,” he hissed. “Time which I conveniently wasted by blubbering around like an utter imbecile.”

“It wasn’t foolish of you to go to Andromeda,” she replied calmly. “She is a retired Mediwitch so it is perfectly understandable that you chose to go to her for aid. In fact, had you messaged St Mungo’s, we’re not even sure if they would have taken your call.”

Draco turned away from her, hating that he needed his mother to reassure him of his self-worth.

“Can we just go and check on Potter, _please_ ,” he grumbled. “One last look before I hole myself away again.”

His mother sighed. “Your exaggerations grow tiring, Draco.”

* * *

Once he’d made certain that Potter was neither dead nor dying, Draco had fully intended to keep to his word and lock himself away in the Manor. However, he hadn’t counted on a guilt-tripping Granger storming into his room a couple of days after the accident, Weasley trailing warily behind.

Draco would have liked to say that he handled the situation with poise and dignity, but then he’d be lying and he always had been a particularly shite liar.

When the bushy-haired menace sprang her ambush, Draco was lying in bed staring at the ceiling as he was wont to do these days. He hadn’t seen Ginny since the accident which was probably because she was pissed that he’d handed a cursed book to her other half; bringing to mind past events best left forgotten. He turned, fully expecting to see his mother, but instead found himself faced with one Hermione Granger, famous for her intellect and doesn’t-know-when-to-bloody-quit attitude, breaking into his sanctuary like a witch on a mission.

“Does no one remember the concept of _knocking_ anymore?!” he shrieked, pulling a sheet over himself as he realized that he was wearing his ‘clothes-for-my-eye-alone’. “What has the world come to?!”

Weasley chose this moment to enter and when he took in the sight of Draco glaring and hissing from his sheet cocoon, his face went bright red.

“Merlin’s balls, were you just _wanking_ , Malfoy?!”

Draco’s mouth dropped open in dismay. “I was certainly _not_! Sweet Salazar, why would you even _think_ that?!”

“I don’t know!” Weasley yelled back, arms waving wildly and face still doing a worthy impression of a tomato. “I walk in and you’re yelling at ‘Mione about privacy and knocking, and you’re all bundled up like you’re naked. What’s a bloke to think?”

“I’m not naked!” Draco yelped, yanking the sheet off him. “See, I’m fully clothed.”

Weasley blustered some more. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Oh, grow the fuck up, Weasley,” Draco sneered. “It’s just a knitted shirt.”

“Fine then, _why_ the fuck are you dressed like that. It’s practically _see-through_!”

Granger hummed thoughtfully. “Ginny mentioned something about this. Apparently we’re bearing witness to the infamous ‘hermit clothes’ which Draco wears when in the comfort of his own room. Ginny quite likes to catch him off guard like this in the hopes of catching a glimpse, and I can see the appeal now. The messy queue is a nice touch, I must say,” she added approvingly.

Weasley looked sick and Draco let out a squawk of outrage. “What is with you Gryffindors and your perverse fascination in my clothes? What I wear in my room is my own business.”

“Maybe if you didn’t dress like a cross between a homeless kid and a gay stripper?” Weasley suggested gruffly.

“Ron!” Granger smacked the back of his head and subsequently went up in Draco’s regard.

“If it bothers you so much, Weasley, I can go change,” Draco said as he got up from bed. “Would dress robes suit his majesty?”

Weasley snorted. “Don’t be an arse, Malfoy.”

“Your clothes are fine, Draco,” Granger assured him as she took a seat in one of his armchairs. Weasley moved to examine the pictures on his mantle, snickering at the one that showed a cake-covered six-year-old Draco grinning at the camera with an equally messy Blaise and Pansy beside him.

“So to what do I owe this impromptu visit?” Draco asked, settling down in the armchair beside Granger.

“You haven’t been back to Grimmauld Place,” she said, no beating around the bush as usual.

“I’m aware of that,” Draco replied coolly.

“You haven’t finished up with the library either,” she continued, warming up now. Draco could practically smell the lecture coming up.

“Again, I am aware of that.”

“May I ask why?”

Draco faltered. A question was much more difficult to deflect.

“Harry’s been asking after you, you know.”

“What for?” Draco burst out, genuinely surprised by this.

Granger blinked quizzically at him. “Well, you’re his friend who until a couple of days ago, came over every day and then you suddenly disappear. I think any of us would have done the same in his position.”

“Does he honestly think I was going to just come back and continue with the library?” Merlin help him, Potter was hopeless.

“Do you make it a habit of giving up on projects you’ve taken over?” Granger raised a brow impressively. “If I recall, you’re usually more tenacious than this.”

Draco flushed. “Low blow, Granger,” he muttered.

Granger shrugged unremorsefully. “I’m not feeling very benevolent right now with Harry upset. He misses you.”

Draco’s chest clenched painfully. Potter had no business missing him.

“Plus, he won’t shut up about you,” Weasley added, silent until now. “It’s like sixth year all over again.”

Granger laughed. “Perhaps it hasn’t reached that stage just yet, but it sure seems to be headed that way.”

“It’s annoying is what it is,” Weasley continued, frowning. “It’s all ‘Malfoy this’ and ‘Malfoy that’ all day long.”

“We’ve moved in with him until he recovers,” Granger explained. “So we’re pretty much subjected to the full extent of his whining. Ginny visits a lot, of course, but obviously it’s not as bad for her as for us.”

The momentary pleasure at knowing that Potter missed him was quickly quenched by the reminder that Potter still wasn’t well. He’d kept himself updated through his aunt and he knew that although the curse had been removed, it had still left him exhausted, both physically and magically. It made sense that his two best friends would volunteer to look after him.

“The point is,” Granger continued sternly. “You really should visit him, and if you don’t want to help him with the library anymore, at least tell him that.”

Draco sighed. He supposed Potter deserved that much at least. “Fine, I’ll come see him.”

Granger beamed. “Brilliant! We’ll wait outside until you get ready.” She stood up and Weasley came to her side.

Draco also got up, confused. “What?”

“Unless you _want_ to go see him looking like that,” Granger said with a speculating look.

Draco’s eyes widened, finally understanding where this was going. “I said I’d go see him. Right now was not implied.”

Granger beamed again. “Like they say, there’s no time like the present.”

“But–”

“Give it up, Malfoy,” Weasley interrupted. “You should know by now that once Hermione’s set on doing something, it’ll happen. Save yourself some energy and just go with it.”

Draco hung his head with a sigh. “I’ll be with you in five.”

* * *

To say that Draco was worried about seeing Potter again was an understatement. He was willing to admit he was _terrified_. Granger and Weasley were long gone because they so conveniently had ‘somewhere to be’, and Draco had been standing outside the library door for a good fifteen minutes now, willing his legs to move. The rational part of him knew that Potter wouldn’t have asked after him if he didn’t want to see him – if he didn’t _miss_ him – but he still couldn’t quite shake the feeling of guilt that persisted in the recesses of his mind. An active conscience was _not_ something to be taken lightly. Still, Draco couldn’t back out now after coming this far – and he really didn’t want Granger storming his room again – so he steeled himself, swung the door open with a flourish and stepped in.

Potter was dozing off by the window, snuggled up in a cushy armchair that someone must have brought up from the sitting room. He was pale and his face was thinner than Draco remembered, but most of all, he looked astonishingly _young._ Draco’s nerve left him as soon as it had come, and he took a step back, fully intent on hightailing it away and sequestering himself back at the Manor until the end of days. There was something inherently _wrong_ about Potter looking so vulnerable. He was supposed to be all things light; full of spirit and life and daring. He wasn’t supposed to look drained and helpless because of Draco’s stupidity.

“This was a bad idea,” Draco said out loud and immediately regretted it when Potter gave a small grunt and opened his eyes groggily.

“Malfoy?”

Well, there went his grand escape.

Potter blinked a few times, and when his eyes finally focused on Draco, his whole face lit up. “You’re here!”

“I’m here,” Draco echoed stupidly, frozen in place by the force of Potter’s face-splitting grin.

“If I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have taken a nap.” Potter rubbed at his eyes and yawned a little. “Hermione and Ron went out to run some errands and never returned, so I figure they’re having an impromptu date.”

Draco wisely didn’t tell him that running errands was nothing more than a ruse. He tentatively sat down on the cushioned stool by Potter’s side and took a quick survey of the room. It seemed to have been left untouched since the accident and there were still piles of books messily stacked about the floor like little islands.

“So, how have you been?” Draco enquired politely and then wanted to kick himself. Any fool with eyes could tell that Potter wasn’t doing well.

Potter’s lips quirked with amusement and he lifted his eyebrows. “I still need help walking about but I have my trusty cane for that.” He gestured to the beautiful, ornate cane propped up against his armchair. “I’m pretty sure it’s an antique but it gets the job done and is miles better than having Ron lug my sorry arse around.”

“And your magic?” Draco asked after a dry swallow.

“I’m not supposed to do even the easiest of spells for at least two weeks,” Potter sighed. “That’s been a bit harder to get used to. I never really realised how dependant I’ve grown to magic until now.”

Draco looked down at his lap. “I see.”

“What about you? You’re looking paler than usual actually. Are you alright?”

Draco wasn’t looking at him but the concern in Potter’s voice was evident and his words cut straight through him. Suddenly, it was difficult to breathe.

“Malfoy, what is it?”

“How can you still be so concerned about me after what I did to you?” he asked in a strangled voice, forcing himself to lift his head and look at him.

“What you did to me?” Potter tilted his head and his forehead furrowed. “You didn’t do anything.”

Draco’s shoulders slumped. Sometimes Potter could be so dense it wasn’t even funny anymore.

“I was referring to your ending up in St Mungo’s.”

“ _Oh_.” Potter back with narrowed eyes. “Ginny warned me that you’d start blaming yourself the first chance you got and she told me to tell you to get your head out of your arse because not everything is about you.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. _That_ _little_ –

“And I suppose this is why you haven’t been around these days?” Potter continued with a frown. “You somehow think this is your fault?” Draco nodded jerkily and everything began to spill out at once.

“I was the one who gave you the book. I wasn’t paying attention and you ended up hurt, and even then all I did was gape like an idiot and I couldn’t even cast a Patronus and–”

“Malfoy, just stop,” Potter cut in wearily. “You can be such an idiot sometimes, so I’ll keep this simple. You didn’t do it on purpose, I’m fine now, I really hate apologies,” he ticked these off on his fingers, “And I’d like to move on with my life, if you don’t mind. Can we just _not_ do this?”

Draco was taken aback but he could see that Potter meant every word.

“Very well, but for the record, I _am_ sorry.”

Potter gave a brief nod and no more was said about the matter.

“The curse breaker that came along that day offered to check the other books while she was here. She said that she’s cleared everything she can, which leaves only the Familial spells to deal with.”

Draco smiled at how bad Potter was at being subtle.

“Well then, I better get to that. I’ve already lost three days as it is.”

Potter smiled gratefully. “I’ll serve as your overseer of course.”

“You aren’t the boss of me, Potter.”

“Of course, Malfoy. Of course.”

Potter promptly dozed off soon after, overseeing duties completely forgotten, but Draco didn’t mind too much. The silence of the room was only broken by the occasional snore or snuffle from Potter, and it was a soothing backdrop for Draco to work to. He could feel himself drifting into a comfortable rhythm and wasn’t pleased when Kreacher suddenly popped into the room and disturbed the peace. Potter jerked half-awake at the loud _crack_ and almost fell out of his seat.

Draco clicked his tongue in irritation. “What is it, Kreacher?”

The elf bowed low and warbled, “Kreacher would like to bring Master Draco some biscuits but he is not knowing what flavour Master prefers.”

“Chocolate will do, if you have any,” Draco replied shortly, resuming his work.

“Kreacher will also bring Master Harry some cinnamon biscuits.”

He was gone with another _crack_ and soon appeared with the biscuits and a tea set which he left on the table for them.

“Hmm, I think my house elf might like you better than me,” Potter observed, accepting the plate of biscuits Draco handed to him.

Draco poured himself a cup of tea and added a dollop of milk and heaps of sugar. “It would seem so.”

“I can’t say that I’m offended.”

“How benevolent of you.” Draco gave a small smile, pleased to find them returning to their earlier dynamic, as if the accident had never occurred. “How do you take your tea?” he asked as he poured a cup for Potter.

“Black, two spoons of sugar.”

The door opened just as the last of the biscuits had been eaten and Weasley came in with Granger. When he caught sight of the empty plates, he looked dismayed.

“I missed the biscuits?”

Potter snickered. “You should have told us to keep some for you. How were we supposed to know you wanted biscuits?”

“I would think, Harry, that you’d know that Ron _always_ wants biscuits,” Granger quipped as she sat beside Draco on the ground.

“Kreacher could have brought some up for us too,” Weasley grumbled, flopping down on his back. “He saw us come in. S’not fair.”

“I don’t think he’s forgiven you for what you did last week,” Potter replied unsympathetically.

“I was just trying to help, for fuck’s sake! How was I supposed to know the little bugger would take it the wrong way? I only took the bloody roast out of the oven for him.”

Draco shook his head in disbelief. “Honestly, Weasley, everyone knows that you should never interfere in the kitchen when a house elf is present. It’s like one of the laws of the universe.”

“Last time I ever try the SPEW way.” Weasley clenched his jaw stubbornly and shot Granger a look.

“Honestly, Ronald, do you want me to go down and get you some biscuits?”

Weasley’s face lit up. “Would you?”

“Yeah, he’s mad at Hermione too,” Potter stated lazily.

Granger looked affronted. “What could I have possibly done?”

“Remember when you were trying to persuade me to give him a vacation?”

Granger nodded warily.

“He heard that.”

“Oh, bugger.”

“Mhmm, exactly.” Potter nodded sagely.

“Couldn’t we send Malfoy for them?” Weasley suggested after a pause.

Draco leant back on one of the empty bookshelves. “And what makes you think I’d be willing to do that for _you_ , Weasley?”

Weasley scowled. “It’s not like I’m asking you to fight a basilisk. They’re just biscuits.”

“Are they, Weasley? Are they ever _just biscuits_?”

Weasley turned to Potter with a bewildered expression. “Mate, Malfoy’s talking weird again; make him stop.”

* * *

“Would _Herbology for the everyday Potions Master_ belong in the Potions or Herbology section?” Draco pondered aloud, frowning down at the thick tome.

Potter stopped transfiguring clumps of dust into bubbles and turned to him with pursed lips. “I’m pretty sure I saw another copy of that somewhere. Wait, let me just… _Accio_ _Herbology for the everyday Potions Master._ ”

Another book came flying over from a faraway pile and Potter caught it neatly. He held it up triumphantly.

“Now we can put one in both sections.”

Draco shook his head with an indulgent smile. “You know, I could have summoned it myself. You’ve only just been given the go-ahead to doing magic. It doesn’t mean you have to go crazy with it.”

Potter scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I know, I know. It’s just so nice to be able to do magic again, alright? And I’m still too weak to stop using this bloody cane so allow me this much at least.”

Draco could understand the feeling. Potter’s gladness over his two weeks finally being up could hardly hold a candle to when his house arrest had finally ended.

“I still think you should take it easy though.” Draco turned back to his sorting. “We don’t want a setback in your recovery.”

“Yes, mum.”

Draco shot him the two-fingered salute over his shoulder.

Potter sighed, and Draco could hear him fidgeting in his seat by the window.

_One… Two… Three…_

“Malfoy?”

Draco smirked to himself. So predictable.

“Yes, Potter.”

There was some more fidgeting and a bit of shuffling, then suddenly Potter was dropping down to the floor next to him. He started in alarm.

“Salazar, Potter, give a bloke some warning next time.” Draco reached out to steady the other wizard. “Here, why don’t you just lie down? The floor’s clean and you can lean against one of the armchairs if you want.”

Potter promptly flopped his head onto Draco’s lap.

“I said to lean on an armchair, not me.” Draco tried to keep his tone as even as possible. He dared not look down, knowing that Potter was probably staring up at him with those goddamn eyes of his.

Potter murmured something he couldn’t quite catch and then shuffled between positions, until he got comfortable. Draco’s breath hitched as Potter settled on his side, facing towards him. His cheek lay warm on his thigh and he could feel Potter’s slow breaths through the thin shirt he wore. Draco exhaled shakily.

“Planning on taking a nap, then?”

“Just resting my eyes a bit.”

He didn’t say anything more and Draco tried to ignore the fact that the man he was harbouring a major crush on was lying with his face inches from his crotch. If that wasn’t the very definition of a frustrating situation, Draco didn’t know what was.

“Malfoy?”

Draco couldn’t help jumping a bit at the quiet voice. He’d thought Potter had fallen asleep.

“Yes?” He made the mistake of looking down and was immediately captivated by Potter’s intense stare.

“I was just thinking…” Potter trailed off, biting his lip for a moment before continuing. “Since I’m at home all day now, you’ve been coming here first thing in the morning and leaving late.”

“That’s right.” Draco frowned, wondering where this was going.

“Well, I’m just– I mean, I realised that I’m pretty much taking up all your time, right?” Potter looked so adorably repentant and it was all Draco could do not to reach out and smooth his wrinkled brow.

“It’s not like I’d be doing anything better with my time.” Draco shrugged. “And anyways, this way we’ve made much more progress.”

Potter frowned. “That’s another thing. You’ve finished up with all the Familial spells and all you’re doing now is sorting out the books to arrange for me. So doesn’t that mean that we’re pretty much done?”

Draco’s eyes widened. He’d never thought about it before, but they really were finished. All he had were a few piles more; about a hundred books that he could probably finish today if he really tried.

“With the library over, you’ll be finished helping me,” Potter continued, oblivious to Draco’s sudden emotional turmoil. “You won’t have to spend your days here anymore.”

Draco could feel a stir of panic forming in his gut. It was all going to be over soon. No more spending time with Potter. No more bantering, and arguing and laughing together. No more sneaking glances or stealing touches. No more of everything that had quickly become his whole world. He was going to be thrown aside again, as oftentimes happened.

“Malfoy, are you alright?”

He took a shuddering breath and looked down at Potter, face scrunched up in concern.

“I’m fine, Potter. I may have inhaled an unhealthy amount of dust though,” he added with a forced laugh.

“See, this is why I told you to wear a mask,” Potter teased.

Draco weakly returned his smile and then turned away again. Maybe… maybe it would be better if he told Potter how he felt. It would probably ruin their friendship, not to mention his friendship with Ginny. His heart clenched at that. He was going to miss her, maybe even more than Potter.

“Potter, I need to tell you something.” Potter looked up at him inquiringly. “The thing is… I–”

The door swung open and Weasley walked in, munching on a sandwich. He blinked as he took in the scene before him and then quickly gulped down his mouthful.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” he asked mildly.

Draco shook his head, hysteria bubbling up inside him. What the fuck had he been thinking? He couldn’t tell Potter, he simply could not.

“So, what are you two talking about?” Weasley asked as he settled down a few feet from where they were. “Kreacher’ll bring up a plate for you all too,” he added.

Potter finally sat up. “Malfoy was trying to tell me something, I think.”

“It wasn’t anything important,” Draco replied quickly, shrugging. “I can’t even remember what it was now.”

Potter readily accepted this and turned back to Weasley. “Did you just get back?”

“Yeah, George let me off early and then I went to place the cake order.”

“They can have it by tomorrow, yes?” Draco asked and pushed the pile of books away from him. “Enough sorting for today.”

“They said there’s more than enough time for them to get it ready. Teddy’s going to love it.”

“You need to stop worrying, Malfoy,” Potter added with a wry smile. “With you on the case, everything will go like clockwork.”

Draco wished he had Potter’s confidence. Yet another thing currently stressing him out would have to be Teddy’s first birthday party, a mere day from now. He, Potter, and Weasley had taken over the operation, assuring his mother and aunt that they could handle it, and up until now everything _had_ gone as planned. Still, Draco couldn’t help the bouts of anxiety that hit him every now and then.

“Come on, stop worrying,” Potter pressed on. “You’re just as bad as Hermione.”

Weasley let out an anguished groan and banged his head back against an armchair. Draco shared an amused look with Potter, knowing what was coming next.

“Why’d she have to go back? I miss her so bloody much.”

“There, there,” Draco cooed in mock concern and Potter snickered. “She’ll be coming for the party at least. McGonagall gave them permission so you’ll get to see her tomorrow.”

“And then she’ll be gone again!”

“Ron, be grateful that you got a month with her anyways,” Potter chided. “It was nice of McGonagall to give them that, instead of the usual one-week holiday. Seriously, bless her.”

“I guess so.” Weasley stared glumly at his sandwich before taking another bite. “I need something to take my mind off things. Let me sort out the books since Malfoy’s done for the day. There’s not a lot left, is there?”

Draco cringed at the reminder.

“What are you planning on doing after this?” Weasley enquired, completely unaware that he was adding more nails to Draco’s casket. “With Ginny back at school and Harry going back to Auror training next week, you’re going to be at a bit of a loose end. You could always join me and George at the shop. We’re always on the lookout for extra help and you’re alright company.”

“How kind of you, Weasley,” Draco replied dryly. “But actually, I do have something to do afterwards.”

“ _You do?_ ”

The surprise in Potter’s voice did not go unnoticed and Weasley coughed pointedly, prompting him to immediately blush hotly.

“Sorry,” he murmured with chagrin.

Draco couldn’t really blame Potter for his scepticism, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. He might not have realised that they were almost finished but he _had_ known that this wasn’t going to last forever. He’d also known that he couldn’t go back to spending his days wandering about the Manor – not after Ginny and Potter had taught him to live again.

His mouth twisted up for a moment, unsure if he wanted to tell them about his plans after all. He felt almost _shy_ , even though he was quite pleased with what he’d decided to do. The other two were watching him curiously, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ll be studying for my N.E.W.T.s actually,” he finally said.

Both Potter and Weasley stared. 

“Privately, of course,” Draco hastened to add. “I already spoke with McGonagall, who’s agreed to allow me to pop in to use the library whenever I need, and Granger said that I could contact her for any help as well. I’ll be doing them later on in the year though, not with the others.”

Potter opened his mouth to say something but Draco silenced him with a raised hand. He wasn’t finished just yet.

“I’ll be applying for the Healer programme next,” he went on with not a small amount of pride colouring his voice. “With my aunt’s help, I spoke to the head of the programme and he said that as long as I obtain the required N.E.W.T.s, he’s willing to overlook my part in the War. He thinks it’ll be a good way of making amends anyways.”

Truth be told, this was all because of the accident. Draco never wanted to find himself helpless in such a situation again, and he’d always secretly had an interest in Healing magic. In a sense it went hand in hand with Potions, but of course any hopes of a career in either of these fields had been nothing more than pipe dreams with his father pushing him to go into politics, much like himself. Yet another reason to be glad Lucius was out of the picture.

“Malfoy, that’s great!” Potter exclaimed. “I know you’ll do brilliantly.”

“Yeah, good for you, Malfoy,” Weasley added somewhat dazedly.

Potter’s pleased excitement abruptly left him and all of a sudden he was giving Draco an unexpected shove, sending him toppling over with a startled yelp.

“You never told me about this, you sneaky bastard!”

Draco sat up and reigned in the impulse to shove him back, keeping to mind that Potter was still recovering. He settled on a glower instead and wrapped his arms around himself defensively.

“I had a lot of people to meet, and I had to convince them to give me a chance too. There was no way I was going to jinx it by telling anyone before it was all finalised.”

“If you’d told me, I could’ve spoken up on your behalf,” Potter protested mulishly.

Draco sniffed. “It might surprise you to hear this, but not all of us want to bask off the power of your name.”

“It’s not about power,” he insisted, looking offended now. “I just meant that I could have vouched for your character.”

“Can’t you just be happy that I actually accomplished something on my own for once?”

“I am happy! I just wish you could have relied on me to help too.”

“Well, maybe next time I will ask you for help!”

“And I’ll be the best goddamn help you could have ever asked for!” 

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“What in Merlin’s name just happened?” Weasley asked in a faint voice. 

Draco blinked, the anger dissipating in a matter of seconds. “Well, I believe Potter and I just had an argument.”

Potter lay on his back and started to laugh.

“Why did we even start arguing in the first place?”

Weasley shook his head in despair. “Nutters, the lot of you. I’m completely surrounded by madness.”

Kreacher cracked into the room with two plates piled high with sandwiches carefully balanced on his hands. Weasley’s mood lifted instantly.

“Yes, sandwiches!”

* * *

“We should celebrate! Bring out the firewhisky, Harry.” Weasley swept out his arm importantly.

Draco raised a brow. “Pray tell, what are we celebrating exactly?”

“I think Ron just wants an excuse to drink. Get away from his heartache, and all.” Potter smirked, but still rose to get the drinks.

“It’s not that,” Weasley indignantly called after him. “We’re celebrating Malfoy finishing the job.”

“I still have more books, you know,” Draco replied mildly.

Weasley scrunched his brow. “You’ll probably finish tomorrow, right? But tomorrow’s the party so we can’t celebrate like this. Think of it as a compromise.”

“I didn’t know you understood how those things worked.”

“Prat.”

Potter returned with a couple of bottles and three large glasses. “Luckily I had a few chilling in the cooler for a special occasion.”

Draco accepted his glass with the slightest trepidation. He wasn’t sure if drinking around Potter was a good idea but thankfully, he was fairly good at holding his liquor. Lucius had had his heir attending societal soirees from an extremely young age and Draco had practically been weaned on champagne as a child.

Potter poured liberally and soon they were all pleasantly buzzed, though some more than others. It turned out Potter was a bit of a lightweight and two cups in he was babbling like an idiot. Draco himself felt it prudent to call it quits at three cups and Weasley followed his example, pleading an early day at work the next day. Potter, on the other hand, kept going, and that was when Draco realised they’d made a grave mistake in not stopping him earlier.

Potter had always been a rather touchy-feely sort of bloke, always crowding into Draco’s space with no regards to boundaries; sitting too close, leaning on Draco whenever he could, showering him with careless touches and unexpected hugs. Draco had always had to grit his teeth and tolerate it but an intoxicated Potter seemed to be a hundred times worse. The man was clingier than the giant squid and Weasley was absolutely no help when Potter decided to turn his attentions on Draco.

“Ya know,” Potter slurred, arm firmly around Draco’s shoulder. “I always thought you’d be really _pointy_ , ya know?”

Weasley snorted.

“Turns out, you’re actually really soft, Mal-mafloy.” He stroked a hand down one of Draco’s cheeks. “Ron, you gotta feel this! It’s like– like a kneazle kitten without the fur.”

“So Malfoy’s cheek feels like a naked kneazle?” Weasley looked delighted. “I need to get this into a Pensieve later.”

“Ooh, a naked Malfloy!” Potter’s eyes widened. “Tha’s even better!”

Weasley choked this time.

“Mafoy, you’re really pretty,” Potter told him seriously. “Not pretty like Ginny-pretty; pretty like Malloy-pretty.”

“That’s beautiful, Harry.” Weasley at least seemed to be enjoying himself.

Draco leant forward and covered his face, not knowing if he should laugh or cry – and then settled on shrieking when Potter’s hand somehow ended up on his arse and gave it a hearty squeeze.

“Potter, you will keep your hands to yourself!” Draco felt like he would spontaneously combust right then and there.

Potter stubbornly jutted out his chin. “No.” He tried to do it again and yelped when Draco slapped his hand away.

“Merlin’s tits, Weasley, restrain your bloody friend!”

The useless sod did nothing but give a wicked smile. “All yours, Malfoy.”

“I’m gonna call you Draco,” Potter announced. “Draaa-coo. It makes my tongue tickle.” He then proceeded to clumsily climb onto Draco’s lap. Draco was too stunned to do anything but gape as Potter settled down with a contented sigh.

“You have a very comf’table lap, ya know.”

Weasley was muttering something about getting a camera and Draco tried to sound as firm as he could when he spoke to Potter.

“Potter, it is not proper conduct for you to climb onto a person’s lap like that.”

Potter looked crestfallen. “I thought you liked me.” He sounded so downtrodden that Draco couldn’t stop himself from patting him on the head. He cursed his weakness but it just seemed like the thing to do in the moment.

“Of course I like you, Potter.” He swallowed. “I sincerely value our friendship.”

“I am seriously going to Pensieve this.”

Draco levelled a hard look on Weasley and he at least had the sense to look mildly intimidated.

“I like you too,” Potter gushed and dutifully climbed off his lap.

Draco smiled. Perhaps a drunk Potter wasn’t so bad after–

“Potter, touch my arse again and you’ll have a fucking broomstick shoved up yours!”

“Okay, Harry, I think it’s time for bed.” Weasley swept to his feet and hurriedly yanked his best friend away from Draco. “Sorry about that, Malfoy.”

“Fat lot of help you were,” Draco sneered back. “I should be heading back anyways. Goodnight you two and thanks for the drink.”

“No, Draco don’ goooo,” Potter whined, wobbling over to flop onto his chest and staring up at him pleadingly.

Draco’s breath stuttered in his chest and his face felt like it was on fire. Potter really did have beautiful eyes; vibrant green and framed by long, thick lashes. He could only imagine how devastating they’d be without the glasses in the way, and for once he was grateful for the hideous frames. Potter’s expression suddenly shifted and before Draco knew what was happening, he was pouncing forward for a kiss.

Weasley shouted something in the background and Draco quickly twisted his head to the side. Potter’s kiss landed sloppy and wet on his cheek and he gave a pitiful whine as Draco stumbled away from him, looking anywhere but at Potter. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to get his breathing and heart rate back to normal. Potter was drunk and it didn’t mean anything. Hell, he was so tipsy he’d probably have kissed Kreacher at this point.

Still, Draco felt panic building up inside him. What if he hadn’t managed to turn his head in time? If the kiss had landed its mark, there was no way he would have been able to resist Potter, and it made Draco hate himself all the more – that he could so easily throw all his principles away just like that.

“Malfoy?” The hand on his shoulder made him jump and open his eyes in a rush, but it was only Weasley. “You alright, mate?”

Draco saw that Potter was now passed out on the couch and he slowly let out a breath. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t think too much of it.” Weasley said gently, a painfully understanding look on his face. “When he gets this drunk, he’s not likely to remember any of this in the morning.”

Draco clenched his fists. “Good.”

“I’ll just take him off to bed then. Sleep well, Malfoy.”

Draco Floo-ed back to his room with a heavy heart, knowing that he was unlikely to get any sleep that night. Usually he’d speak to his mother before going to bed, but he didn’t feel fit for company. He’d go to bed and try to forget for a moment that Potter had come back into his life and set it to flame.

He took a quick shower, scrubbing furiously at his left cheek, and changed into the pyjamas he kept reserved for occasions like this when he felt truly poorly. They were a gag gift from Blaise and a tad embarrassing with cartoonish baby dragons wobbling about the muted blue cloth, but they were also so soft.

A loud, excited hoot rang through the room as he got into bed, and he couldn’t help a smile when Mercury dove in through the open window and crashed spectacularly onto his coverlet.

“Well, you silly bird, had a good hunt?”

Mercury hooted haughtily, no doubt boasting about his expert hunting skills. Draco tried to give his little companion an ear, but soon enough he just couldn’t maintain his smile anymore and flopped back onto his back.

“I’m sorry, Mercury, but not tonight.”

A light weight landed on his chest and Mercury gave a soft hoot which Draco knew to mean ‘ _What’s_ _wrong?_ ’

Draco was too emotionally drained to get into it today and Mercury seemed to get the hint, giving his ear an affectionate nibble before alighting onto his perch. Just as Draco was pulling the coverlet over him, there was a knock at his door. He sat up, calling for whoever it was to enter.

“Draco, why did you not let me know you were back?” Narcissa asked with a frown as she came in. “Blinky had to tell me that you’d returned.”

“I’m tired, Mother.”

She pursed her lips and eyed him with concern. “I won’t disturb you long then. The post came while you were out and I brought it up for you.” She placed a small stack of letters on his bedside table. “Goodnight, my darling.”

Draco would have turned over to go to sleep then, but the letter on top looked to be from Ginny. Call him a glutton for punishment, but he decided to read it.

_Draco_

_So here I find myself finally settling down to write to you, even though I’ve received absolutely NOTHING on your end. Honestly, I’m a terrible letter-writer but I always make a habit of replying. I was waiting for you to owl me first, you tosser!_

_Anyways, all things aside, I suppose you’re probably really busy. Helping Harry and planning Teddy’s party, getting ready to start up with your N.E.W.T.s again… Merlin, I’m worried about them myself. I’m pretty sure you could sit for them right now and still get better results than me. Sometimes I feel sure I’ll fail but then I remember all of Hermione’s swot sessions and I actually feel alright about them. Oh well, we’ll just have to wait and see when the exams arrive, I suppose._

_Leaving all that depressing shite behind, Quidditch has been absolutely BRILLIANT! I’m captaining our team of course and we haven’t lost a match yet. We’ve already trounced Slytherin’s sorry arses (sorry Drakes, but you know how it is), and we just have to beat the Puffs for the Cup. I shouldn’t jinx it, but honestly it’s already ours for the taking._

_There’s quite a lot of gossip to tell you but I daren’t write it all down here. Translation: I can’t be arsed to write it all down. Don’t judge! I already told you I was shite at this. We’ll meet at the party anyways and then I can regale you with my tales of wickedness. Just wait ‘til you here what Daphne and Smith were caught doing in the Charms classroom after hours. Honestly, it made even me_ _blush, and you know that I’m completely shameless._

_I’ll sign off now then. Be grateful I bothered with this much in the first place. Oh, and say hi to your mum for me, and Ron and Harry too. Speaking of Harry, how is he? Complete silence on his part too. It’s funny but you’re probably closer to him now than I am, if that isn’t a laugh._

_Ginny_

Draco threw the letter down, jaw tight with frustration. He thought back to the library when Potter was snuggled in his lap; how he’d leant on his shoulder afterwards while they ate sandwiches and insisted Draco feed him. Then there was what had happened as he was leaving that night… Certainly at the moment he was _much_ closer to Potter than Ginny. Perhaps close in a way that wasn’t appropriate when she was away at Hogwarts and had no way of knowing what Potter was up to.

He stumbled out of bed and made his way to the Floo. He couldn’t do this anymore; he needed a way out. The clock read half past eleven and he scowled. Blaise and Pansy were probably in some state of undress at this hour but he _needed_ to speak to them.

“Pearl sitting room, Zabini estate.”

This time around there was thankfully no buggering in sight, and he called for someone to answer his call. Eventually a house elf appeared and soon he’d directed the creature to go get his friends. Draco summoned a cushion to lie on and got himself comfortable as he waited, crossing his arms and resting his head on them.

When the two finally arrived, they looked anything but pleased. They were wearing matching sleep robes, haphazardly pulled on, and Blaise hadn’t even bothered to close his. He sported a pair of black pants and his lean, dark torso was on full display. Pansy’s hair was a right mess, her lipstick smudged and some impressive hickeys littered her neck. There was no question as to what they’d been up to when he’d called.

“Draco, we love you but _seriously_?” Blaise growled as he flopped down in front of the fire. “This had better be good.”

“You’re telling me,” Pansy added, dark eyes glinting murderously.

“I’m sorry, alright.” Draco bowed his head in surrender. “You could have at least asked them to wait until you returned. Did you?”

To his _immense_ surprise, Pansy – the girl who’d once tried to have sex with some bloke while Draco was sleeping in the same room, and had shown no shame whatsoever when she’d been caught – blushed as sweetly as a virgin bride on her wedding night, and shot Blaise a quick look that spoke volumes. Draco took a sharp intake of breath and his own problems were forgotten in place of a shocking realisation that hit him like the Hogwarts Express.

“ **You two are _fucking_?!**”

“Keep it down, you utter berk,” Pansy hissed, glancing behind her. “Do you want to inform the entire household?”

“Oh, so I’m not the only one in the dark?” Draco asked with mock-surprise. “And here I thought I was the last to hear about this little _development_.”

“Draco, don’t be like this.” Blaise ran a distracted hand over his face. “We were going to tell you, really. We just needed some time to sort it all out.”

“You were going to be the first person we told,” Pansy added softly.

Draco felt himself deflate.

“How did it even start?”

“Alcohol,” Blaise stated plainly. “The necessary evil. Last week we went out for a party and the both of us got seriously sloshed. I don’t remember much of the night but somehow we got back to the house and… things happened.”

“The next morning we agreed that it was just a one-off and that nothing had to change,” Pansy continued. “But we were completely wrong, and it got really awkward between us. We stupidly ignored all the signs and tried to hook up with other people, and then a few nights after it happened, I saw Blaise kissing some girl at a club and something inside me just clicked into place.”

“You should have seen her,” Blaise sighed wistfully. “She came right up to us and dragged the other girl away from me and then backed me against a wall and snogged the life out of me. That was when it clicked for me too. I’ve been ploughing my way through the population but nobody’s ever made me feel what I do when I’m with Pans. Apart from you, she’s the only one who sees the real me.” He grinned. “Not to forget, she’s in possession of a smashing pair of tits.”

“I’m aware,” Draco replied dryly, wishing he wasn’t. His gaze softened. “I’m happy for you.”

They smiled back and shared a look that spoke of things that Draco could only wish for. He swallowed, throat suddenly tight and eyes smarting. He truly was happy for them but he couldn’t help feeling a little disheartened. They’d been of equal standing before, the three of them against all odds, but now Draco was the one on the outside. He was on his own and the person who made him less lonely couldn’t be his.

“Draco, is something actually wrong?” Pansy reached out to place a hand on his cheek through the flames.

Draco sighed, leaning into the touch. He wasn’t sure how to tell them about his dilemma. It was just so complicated and the concerned looks they were giving him weren’t making matters easier.

Blaise tried for a nonchalant smile. “Come on, whatever it is cannot be _that_ bad. You’re being melodramatic as usual, aren’t you?”

“I’m in love with Potter.” Draco’s face slackened in shock as he registered the words that had left his mouth, and Pansy and Blaise mirrored his expression. He brought a hand to cover the lower half of his face. “What the fuck?”

“That’s what we should be saying!” Pansy screeched, pointing a finger at him accusingly. “Why do _you_ look so shocked?”

Draco began to shake his head. “No. No, this isn’t happening. I’m not– I can’t be– It’s just attraction. It’s a fucking crush! I can’t–”

“Okay, okay. Let’s all just calm down first,” Pansy said in a rush, more to herself than anyone else. “Draco, _breathe_.”

Draco closed his eyes and focused on not hyperventilating.

“Is it really such a bad thing though?” Blaise suddenly spoke up, his voice soft.

“Of course it’s a bad thing!” Pansy shot back harshly. “You think he’d almost go into a panic attack over nothing?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, what _did_ you mean then?”

“Please, don’t fight,” Draco moaned, opening his eyes to look at them beseechingly. He didn’t need a pair of bickering lovers added to the shitestorm that was his life.

Blaise wrapped his arm around Pansy and pulled her against him, whispering something into her ear that had the effect of Pansy slumping back against him and releasing a shuddering breath.

“From what you’ve told us about him, it seems like you get along well now,” Blaise offered up hesitantly. “Is it really so horrible that you like him?”

“He’s dating Ginny.”

“There’s that…”

“I refuse to believe that you fell for that walking disaster with zero encouragement,” Pansy scoffed, dark eyes narrowing dangerously on Draco. “Are you honestly telling us that Potter never showed even the slightest interest?”

Draco hesitated for a fraction of a second and Pansy pounced like a nundu to the kill.

“Something _did_ happen! Did he make a move? Wait, are you _blushing_?!”

Something seriously needed to be done about his skin; he couldn’t keep a thing to himself.

“Draco, I swear to god, I will smack you so hard you’re pretty face will have the mark for a week if you don’t stop faffing about and tell us what hap–”

“I think he tried to kiss me.”

Pansy’s eyebrows disappeared into her fringe. “That is most certainly a move.”

“In his defence,” Draco added quickly. “He was extremely drunk.”

Pansy scowled. “Tell us everything.”

So he did, and when he’d finished, his friends looked as frustrated as he felt.

“Fucking hell, Draco, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” Blaise groaned. “If the groping is anything to go by, Potter obviously has a certain fondness for your arse.”

“Well, he does have a fantastic arse.” Pansy shrugged. “Can’t say that I blame him.”

“My arse aside, Potter can’t do this to Ginny,” Draco snapped. “I don’t care if I’ve fallen for him, he needs to back the fuck off.”

“Oh, he certainly should,” Pansy agreed ominously. “Gryffindor honour, my arse. One would think that our beloved Saviour would be above cheating, but I guess he’s nothing more than a fuckboy.”

“Oh, come on, he’s not a fuckboy,” Draco protested, feeling extremely indignant on Potter’s behalf. Whatever was going on with him now didn’t cancel out all the good that was in him, and Draco couldn’t just stand by and have him badmouthed. “He’s not cheated because, might I remind you, _nothing has happened._ ”

“Nothing’s happened _yet_ ,” Pansy sniffed waspishly, crossing her arms. “You might try to play it off as drunken behaviour but it seems to me that anything he may have felt for Ginny just isn’t there anymore.”

“Don’t _say_ that.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this,” Blaise told him firmly. “So Potter isn’t in love with his girlfriend anymore? These things happen.”

“And you’re going to have to tell her, you know,” Pansy said, equally as firmly. “Tell her about your feelings and that Potter might feel the same. Better talk to the speccy tosser too, before you do anything else. Call him out on his shite and get some answers.”

“I should have taken you up on your offer to come to Italy.” Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly. “If Ginny kills me…”

“I will provide a wonderful home for your clothes,” Blaise promised fervently.

Pansy stared at him for a long while, a pained expression on her face. “Remind me why we put up with you?”

* * *

“Well, that’s that,” Draco said to the room at large, pushing the last book into its place and stepping away from the bookcase. He regarded the organised library with a fond but bittersweet smile. It was done.

A hand landed gently on his shoulder and he breathed in deeply before turning. Potter looked back at him with an easy smile, and Draco couldn’t help wishing things were different – simpler. He’d already made up his mind to speak to Potter, but it couldn’t be tonight. He had other matters to tend to and had no intention of ruining Teddy’s party by starting a fight. They’d talk soon but for today, Draco was still Potter’s friend.

“Thank you.” Potter squeezed his shoulder once and stepped closer, a solid length of heat against Draco’s side. “You didn’t have to but you still said you’d help and you have.”

“It was good to get out of the house,” Draco returned simply, trying his hardest to maintain an unaffected air at the invasion of his personal space. As Weasley had predicted, Potter didn’t seem to remember the aborted kiss at all and was acting the same as usual, which meant Draco needed to do the same.

“Ron’s picking up the cake on his way back,” Potter said, keeping his arm around Draco’s shoulders as he steered them out of the room. “We still have time but it can’t hurt to finish up with the rest of the decorations early.”

The party was to be held in a spacious parlour and they’d already put up most of the decorations and arranged the furniture. All that was left was to blow up the balloons and hang up some more streamers. Potter directed Draco to sit down on one of the couches and picked up one of the many small packets that he’d left there, ripping it open and subsequently scattering balloons all over their laps. Draco picked a blue one and regarded it with a tilt of his head, rubbing it between his fingers. Potter had wanted to use Muggle balloons and it was the first time Draco was dealing with them. The material felt rubbery and quite solid as opposed to the Wizarding ones which were pretty soft.

“Are you really sure these burst?” Draco frowned as he rubbed the balloon harder. “They feel quite thick.”

Potter picked up his own purple balloon. “They seem tough but once you blow them up, they get really delicate. Don’t inflate them too much, alright, or they’ll pop. Here, let me do one first and then you can follow my example.”

Draco expected Potter to take out his wand for the job but much to his surprise, he appeared to be putting it in his mouth.

“Potter, why are you doing that?”

“Hmm? I’m blowing it obviously.”

“ _With your mouth?_ ”

Potter smirked. “How else does one blow things, Malfoy?”

Draco coughed awkwardly. Blast him and his bloody innuendoes.

“I know we use our wands for the Wizarding ones, but there’s nothing like some good old-fashioned mouth action to get the job done,” Potter continued, his face the epitome of innocence even while his eyes gleamed devilishly.

“Well now, I don’t think that’s very hygienic,” Draco pointed out weakly, desperately trying to bring the conversation to safer waters.

Potter pretended to look aghast. “Are you saying I have a dirty mouth, Malfoy?”

Draco focused all his energy into not choking on air.

“You really should try it this way,” Potter continued, holding out the balloon _that had just been in his mouth_. Draco tried to swallow with difficulty, mouth bone-dry.

“I’ll use my own.”

Potter shrugged. “Suit yourself.” 

Draco hesitantly placed the end of the balloon in his mouth and his face scrunched up in disgust. The balloon had an utterly _atrocious_ taste, and Draco would have to rinse his mouth out thoroughly when he was done. He didn’t know how Potter could stand the unusual flavour without so much as a grimace.

“Go on then, blow,” Potter whispered, and was it just Draco’s perverse imagination, or had his voice suddenly gone husky?

Ignoring him as best he could, Draco exhaled slowly and felt the balloon inflate a little before it got stuck at a certain point. Frowning, he blew a bit harder, but the obstinate balloon still wouldn’t budge.

“Harder, Malfoy.”

Completely frustrated with Potter’s outrageous behaviour, Draco took a deep breath through his nose and sent it out harshly into the balloon. Its resistance immediately gave way and Draco blew until he had no more air left in his lungs, and the balloon was as big as his head. He pulled off to give a triumphant crow but unfortunately lost his hold on the balloon in the process and, to his intense mortification, it made a loud and decidedly _flatulent_ sound, and took off like a shot, jetting around the room like a wild pixie.

The balloon finally came to a stop when it hit the Black family tapestry and fell to the ground. Silence descended on them, Potter surprisingly quiet with not so much as a teasing remark made as he stood up and retrieved the wayward balloon. Handing it back to Draco, he resumed his seat and sent a dark scowl at the tapestry.

“I really need to get rid of that stupid thing.”

“You can’t do that!” Draco protested loudly, shocked at the loathing in Potter’s voice. “That tapestry dates back to the 13th century and has been in the family for centuries. You can’t just discard such a valuable part of our heritage–”

“It’s not _my_ heritage,” Potter cut in harshly, shooting him an annoyed look that had Draco drawing back in consternation. He’d grown unaccustomed to such expressions directed his way. He probably should have left off then but the thought of something happening to the tapestry was excruciating.

“Then you should ask permission from my aunt first.”

“Oh yeah, because I’m _sure_ she’d want to keep a tapestry where she’s been _burned off_.”

“And what about my mother? She’s Black too.”

Potter’s expression turned thunderous. “Take it then, if you can manage to get the bloody thing off the wall in one piece. I’m sure it’ll look simply lovely back at the Manor.” He returned to the balloons without another word, abruptly bringing the conversation to an end.

Draco’s heart was pounding painfully and he snatched up his wand, flicking it wildly at the balloon and trying to inflate it the wizard way. When nothing happened, he tried again, frustration building. What good was he as a wizard if he couldn’t even get a stupid wand to listen to him?

“Trouble with the wand?”

“Mind your own fucking business, Potter,” he snarled, horrified to find that he was choking up a little. He refused to cry over a wand of all things, and certainly not in front of _Potter_. He’d have purchased a new one _ages_ ago but he hadn’t dared approach Gallivander about it, and now here he was making an utter fool of himself. He began to shake the wand vigorously, barely resisting the urge to snap the bloody thing in two.

“Malfoy, stop.” Potter placed a surprisingly gentle hand over Draco’s and stilled his motion, voice softening. “Can we not fight? I’m sorry I got angry.”

“Whatever,” Draco muttered in defeat, snatching his hand back and staring down blankly at his wand. He couldn’t say that he cared for Potter and his strange mood swings; let him do as he pleased as long as he left Draco alone. Not everything was about him after all.

Potter was silent for a moment and then he shuffled to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

He left the room and Draco rubbed his hands over his face with a sigh. He needed to get a grip, for heaven’s sake! As his mother liked to say, there was nothing to be gained by unravelling like a badly knitted shawl at the slightest pull. 

Potter returned quickly and it was obvious that he held something behind his back. He shuffled his feet nervously.

“So you’re still having trouble with that wand,” he began haltingly and Draco rolled his eyes. Could Potter do nothing else but constantly state the obvious? He was starting to seriously question his taste in men.

“Of course I’m still having trouble with it. This wand never chose me and I have no connection to its previous owner either since Grandmother Druella died before I was even born.”

“Well,” Potter continued, taking a step forward. “You obviously can’t use that when you sit for your N.E.W.T.s.”

“Really? I’d have never guessed,” Draco retorted sarcastically.

“And how are you going to do all those fancy Healing spells with a faulty wand?”

“Potter, are you _trying_ to piss me off, because if you are, it’s working.

“Apparently hawthorn wands are good for Healing magic, Hermione told me.”

“Potter, are you even listening to me?”

“So wouldn’t this work out well?”

Draco was sure his heart came to a dead stop when Potter held out an unassuming brown wandbox. He stood up on legs that were shaking badly and took the box into his hands, locking eyes sharply with Potter.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get this to you,” he said softly and then gave a small chuckle. “I sort of had to find it first. My cupboard’s a mess.”

Draco slowly lifted off the lid and his breath hitched as he took in the sight of a familiar slim, black wand that he’d dared not hope to ever see again. He made to pick it up but stopped, suddenly afraid. After all its time with Potter, what if his wand no longer recognised him? What if it _rejected_ him? He closed his eyes tightly, the very thought of it almost too much to bear. He really would be lost afterwards.

“It’s okay,” Potter spoke up softly, and his voice was reassuring and so, _so_ confident. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “That wand – I could _feel_ it – even when I used it, I could feel how much it loved you. It never stopped and it never will. It’s _okay_.”

Draco opened his eyes with a slightly hysterical laugh and _finally_ took his wand in hand. A rush of pure heat shot through him as soon as he made contact, originating from his palm and spreading to his very toes. He gasped at the sensation and clutched his wand to his chest, hunching over it and simply _feeling_. He looked up and Potter was watching him with eyes that shone with pure happiness, his smile wide and true.

_He’s smiling for me._

Draco threw his arms around Potter and pulled him into a tight hug, unable to stop himself and not wanting to either. “Thank you,” he breathed into the side of his head, nuzzling into the thick, soft hair. “I feel whole again.”

Potter laughed and brought his arms up to hug Draco back. “It’s fine, Malfoy, I’ve got you.”

The fireplace flared at that eventful moment and they both sprang apart at once. Potter stumbled over the coffee table and landed sprawled across the couch just as Weasley emerged, a large cake box secured firmly in his hands. He paused at the grate as he surveyed the scene in front of him and Draco flushed guiltily even though he had nothing to feel guilty about. To make matters worse, Potter’s shirt had gotten twisted up during his fall and his muscular abdomen was exposed in a most telling manner.

“Oh, so you’ve almost finished up with the décor, have you?” Weasley said with blatantly feigned casualness, his eyebrows resting near his hairline. “The cake turned out perfectly, by the way.”

Potter sat up with a decidedly awkward cough and adjusted his shirt. Weasley eyed him shrewdly.

“Harry, maybe you could take the cake down to Kreacher?” He placed the cake box in Potter’s hands without waiting for a reply and pushed him in the direction of the door. “He can keep it under a good Preservation Charm until it’s time for Teddy to cut it.”

Potter left but not before shooting Draco a concerned look first. Draco gulped, regarding Weasley with apprehension.

“So…” Weasley began, sitting down comfortably in one of the armchairs.

Draco winced. “Out with it, Weasley. Let’s hear it.”

Weasley laughed, though not unkindly. “I’m not going to say anything, Malfoy. Not really my business, now is it?”

Draco gaped. “But… how can you _possibly_ approve of this?”

Weasley shrugged. “Like I said, it’s not my business. Harry’s old enough to make his own decisions and sort out his own messes. Or at least, that’s what ‘Mione says.”

Before any more could be said, Potter returned, breathing heavily as if he’d run back. He regarded them both suspiciously but Weasley was busily blowing up a balloon and looking convincingly as if he’d been doing that the whole time. Draco had to admit, he was craftier than he’d given him credit for.

Potter returned to his place next to Draco and when Weasley’s attention was elsewhere, he leant in close. “You okay? Ron didn’t bother you?” he asked quietly, giving Draco’s hand a slight squeeze.

“He didn’t say anything, it was fine.”

Potter looked like he didn’t quite believe him but thankfully didn’t press the matter. He gave Draco’s hand a final squeeze before letting go and taking up a balloon. Draco followed his example and took up the balloon he’d been trying to inflate before, although this time he used his newly-returned wand and it worked perfectly.

“You’re no fun, Malfoy,” Potter said in exasperation, shaking his head.

“It’s faster this way, not to mention more hygienic,” Draco returned smartly.

“Why are you such a snob?”

“Why are you such a savage?”

“Why are you both bickering when you should be working?” Weasley interjected loudly. “If you can’t resist squabbling, then do it _while_ you work. Multitasking is a thing, you know.”

Draco stared at him in abject horror. “Who _are_ you? You look like Weasley but certainly don’t sound like him.”

Weasley grinned. “Hermione’s influence.”

After a few quiet minutes of work, Potter seemed to decide that sitting straight was overrated and he brought his legs up to half-lie across the couch and subsequently put himself well within Draco’s personal space. Draco shuffled over to give him more room but Potter just stretched out even more until he was fully reclined and had his head resting on Draco’s thigh.

For the rest of the time spent blowing up balloons, Draco steadfastly ignored Potter the best he could. He certainly wasn’t sneaking glances down at him, and if his hand happened to brush against Potter’s hair every now and then, well, it wasn’t done on purpose. Most important of all, Draco was definitely, undoubtedly, most assuredly, _not_ thinking of how right it had felt to have Potter’s arms wrapped so tightly around him before.

Through it all, Weasley snickered to himself.

* * *

“Wonderful party, Draco,” Granger told him with an approving nod and smile. “You’ve handled everything beautifully.”

Draco smiled as modestly as he could. The party really had turned out well and Teddy’s hair had been a vibrant turquoise all evening, which was a known indicator that he was extremely happy. The birthday boy was currently doing a quick circuit around the room atop George’s shoulders, waving grandly at his guests. They’d just cut the cake – an enormous confection of chocolate fudge, covered in an array of sweets, that had had the little boy squealing in delight the moment it had been brought out – and he was busily sucking on a lollipop as he impressively made his rounds.

“I may have expected something a bit grander though,” Granger added teasingly. “Like a guest list going up to a hundred. A grand ballroom as the venue. Perhaps with a gold statue of Teddy as the centrepiece?”

“Oh, shut up, Granger,” Draco laughed. “As if I would wish that on the poor child. I made sure to only invite the people dear to my cousin’s little heart.”

“Look at that, Draco Malfoy is a softie deep down,” another voice quipped behind him and he turned to see Ginny approaching with Potter, his arm possessively around her shoulders. Draco managed to smile, even while his stomach squirmed in a strange mix of jealousy and guilt.

“You already knew what I really was so don’t act so surprised,” he answered loftily. “Besides, he’s my cousin, and family has always been very important to me.”

Ginny cooed. “Aww, aren’t you just a big bundle of love.”

“Cheeky bint,” Draco muttered, deftly snatching up her drink and ignoring her indignant cry as he tossed it back in one go.

“He’s so mean to me,” Ginny grumbled. She pulled Harry’s hand towards her and took a sip of his drink, casual as can be. Draco deliberately looked away.

“I’ll just go down to the kitchen to get some more mini pies. I’m pretty sure Weasley ate the last plate all by himself.”

Granger gave him a light smack as he passed but she was smiling. “Now who’s the cheeky one?”

Making his way down to the kitchen, Draco finally felt some of the tension leaving his shoulders. It had been more discomforting than he’d thought, seeing Potter with Ginny, and to his great shame, he’d been rather cold to her as he tried to mask his jealous feelings. He’d noticed her giving him worried glances all night and it made him feel like the worst of bastards.

Kreacher had already pulled a fresh batch of pies out of the oven and they were resting on a cooling tray. Draco reached for a plate to pile them on and waved Kreacher off when he hurried over to help.

“Leave it to me and go upstairs. Mistress Andromeda wanted to speak to you about the food. She seemed quite impressed with it all.”

Kreacher seemed properly torn between the prospects of shooing Draco out of his kitchens and arranging the plate himself, or getting praised by one of the esteemed Black sisters. After a moment of careful contemplation, the elf nodded and disappeared with an eager _crack_. Aunt Dromeda had obviously held more weight in Kreacher’s eyes, although Draco couldn’t say that it offended him in the least. Truth be told, he found the elf’s slave-like adoration for him quite creepy.

“Need some help?”

Draco must have jumped a metre in the air, and he whirled around with a glare.

“I could do without a heart attack, thank you very much.”

Potter looked unrepentant, leaning back against the kitchen table with a stupid grin on his face. Draco hadn’t heard the slightest indication of his entry and he cursed Auror training for making Potter even sneakier than he already was.

“It’s not my fault you’re so jumpy.”

“At least _I_ don’t scream like a little girl.”

“Ginny dropped an ice cube down the back of my shirt, of course I was going to react. Christ, I thought a Dementor had snuck up on me.” He shook his head with a grimace. “Sometimes I seriously wonder why I love her.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Draco shot back snappily, the careless statement instantly souring his mood. “Ginny is a lovely girl, one of the most amazing people I have ever met, and you are _lucky_ to have her.”

A part of him knew that he was saying this as much to himself as he was to Potter. Trying to remind them both that Ginny did not in any way deserve to get hurt.

“Okay, I did not mean it like that,” Potter protested slowly, blinking in confusion. “Of course I know I’m lucky to have Ginny. The fact that she’s stuck by me despite everything… well, not many would.”

He sounded completely sincere and it confused Draco so much. He couldn’t understand why Potter was pursuing him when it was so obvious that he still loved Ginny.

“You should show her you care then,” Draco muttered half to himself. “You don’t even write.”

“I always _mean_ to write, and then I end up doing something else and forgetting.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I know,” Potter sighed. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m taking her out this weekend.”

It didn’t. Draco got back to the pies that had been forgotten. “Where are you taking her?”

“That Italian place I told you about, near Hyde Park.”

From what Draco could remember Potter telling him, it was Muggle but quaint and intimate. Ginny would love it.

“You’re bringing out all the stocks, I see.”

Potter gave a wry smile. “I want Ginny in a good mood, so yeah. There’s er, something I want to speak with her about.”

He shifted uncertainly, looking both nervous and hopeful at the same time, and Draco didn’t know what to make of it. He supposed he should be delighted that Potter was trying to patch things up with her. If all went well, Draco wouldn’t have to speak to anyone after all. He would simply tuck his feelings away to never be touched upon again. There was a reason he’d always excelled at Occlumency; he’d always been good at compartmentalising his emotions. Aunt Bella had called him cold, and maybe she’d been right all along. 

Draco held out the finished plate to Potter. “Can you take this up? I’ll be with you in a bit, just need to arrange another plate.” What he really needed was some time to pull himself together when he felt like he was splitting at the seams. Potter took the plate but placed it back on the counter.

“I’ll wait for you,” he told him. “Better to spend as much time with you as I can before you’re no longer a semi-permanent fixture in this house.” Potter laughed ruefully and Draco wanted to hate him for not knowing what statements like that did to Draco’s heart.

“So I’m equivalent to a piece of furniture now? Property of Potter.” Draco had no idea why he’d just said something so strange, but his mouth didn’t seem to be listening to him.

Potter moved to stand beside him, his hip resting casually on the countertop. “I wouldn’t say ‘property’. You’re really more of a gift.” He stroked back a lock hair that had fallen over Draco’s forehead and gently tucked it behind his ear. Draco did his best to suppress a shiver. Bloody Potter.

“It’s going to be pretty lonely without you around,” Potter continued softly. Draco’s hand faltered, almost dropping a pie onto the floor. He kept his face carefully averted from Potter even as he spoke up, voice hesitant.

“Actually, I was thinking of sticking round a bit longer.”

“You were?” The hopeful tone in Potter’s voice did nothing to calm Draco’s nerves.

“I thought… maybe I could do something about the Black tapestry. As gratitude for returning my wand.” This was what he’d told himself before when the idea had first hit him, but he knew it was really a selfish excuse to prolong his time with Potter. If things still ended up pear-shaped, Draco would at least have enough memories to get him through the storm.

“I know I was out of line when we fought over it, but also that you always look so _unhappy_ when you look at it,” Draco continued, sneaking a glance at Potter who was staring at him with his mouth slightly hanging open. “And I feel like owe it to those scorched off, as much as to you, to do something about it. I can even add you to the tapestry through Sirius.”

Potter still hadn’t said anything but his eyes were aflame with _something_ and Draco suddenly felt uneasy. Had he presumed too much?

“Only if you’re fine with it, of course,” he added in a rush. “I mean, it is your house and I don’t want to step on your toes or anything. I just figured it might–”

“Malfoy, has anyone told you that you’re amazing?” Potter cut in abruptly, looking completely wrecked. “You can really add me?”

“You’re Sirius’ heir and the new Head of the House, it’s only proper that you be a part of the tree.” Draco’s words were stuttering now. “Your– your descendants will appear on it too then. Any children you might have.” He held Potter’s unwavering gaze, heart breaking at the thought of Potter starting a life that he could never feature in.

“Draco…" Potter breathed out softly, and suddenly his lips were on Draco’s and they were warm and soft and wet and everything Draco had ever dreamed of, and everything he could not accept.

Draco made a sound of distress and broke the kiss, stumbling back in shock. He brought a hand up to cover his mouth but Potter was having none of that, crowding him back against the counter and swiftly pulling his hand away. He gently took Draco’s face into his hands and gazed at him like he was something precious, and when he brought his mouth to Draco’s again in a dizzying slide of lips, Draco’s eyes slid closed in surrender.

Potter kissed like he fought; with reckless abandon and pure intent. He moved an arm to wrap firmly around Draco’s waist as the other gripped his jaw, and Draco whimpered softly as the kiss quickly gained heat. Potter was just as good a kisser as he was at pretty much everything he did, and it wasn’t long before Draco was kissing back, clumsily trying to catch up to Potter as he sailed ahead confidently.

Draco’s hands lifted from where they’d been gripping the edge of the counter to tentatively hold onto Potter’s waist, and Potter hummed happily into his mouth. His hands moved into Draco’s hair and tangled in the blonde locks as he changed the fit of their lips. A hot flick of his tongue, and Draco’s lips were parting for him to immediately dive in. He licked a heated path into Draco’s mouth and Draco choked on a moan when Potter painstakingly stroked the sensitive roof of his mouth with an extremely supple tongue.

Potter pulled back to place a lingering kiss on his cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

“Potter…”

Potter kissed the side of his neck. “So beautiful.”

“Potter, please…”

“Harry.” This was growled into his ear, and the heady feel of hot breath made him shiver. Potter pressed him even harder against the counter and the edge of the counter dug painfully into his lower back.

“ _Harry._ ”

Potter smirked. “Much better.”

The kiss that followed had Draco arching his back just to withstand the force of it. He scrambled for purchase before finally clutching onto Potter’s broad shoulders, his head hitting the cabinet above them with a dull thud, although he hardly felt the pain. Potter’s mouth was suddenly everywhere; travelling the expanse of Draco’s face and neck, a trail of saliva and stinging flesh marking his path. Even in his dazed state, Draco had enough presence of mind to know that his neck would be sporting some spectacular love bites afterwards.

Once Potter reached the base of Draco’s neck, he nosed at the neck of his jumper, nudging the loose material to a side until he’d bared one pale shoulder. Potter buried his face in the warm juncture between Draco’s neck and shoulder and bit down hard enough to make Draco let out an embarrassingly high-pitched keen. Potter licked gently at the stinging bite as if in apology, and then proceeded to suck at it, this time consciously and painstakingly marking him. Draco moaned at the attention Potter was giving to the now oversensitive patch of skin; he’d never known that the act of someone physically marking him could be such a turn-on. 

Potter finally pulled away with a final soft suck, and then took possession of Draco’s mouth again. Draco’s lips felt swollen and bruised, but he welcomed the pain. It made it all the more real; that he was actually being ravished by the man he was probably in love with. He had strong arms around him and the scent of woodsy shampoo surrounding him. He was kissing Potter. He was kissing Harry. He was…

Draco’s eyes shot open and he shoved Potter away with enough force to send him falling on his arse.

“Ow, Draco, what the–” Potter grumbled, a mix of frustration and confusion on his face.

Draco yanked his jumper back in place and tried to smooth down his hair as he got off the counter (and when had _that_ even happened?!), standing unsteadily on legs that threatened to give way. He was panting as if he’d run a marathon and his body and face refused to cool down. He was sure he looked completely fucked up. Potter sat up on the ground, staring up at him in concern now.

“Draco?”

“Merlin, I _hate_ you,” Draco snarled, and the next thing he knew, he was dumping the plate of pies on Potter’s head.

Potter gasped, completely covered in meat filling and bits of crust. “Fucking hell, Draco, what did I do?”

“Stop calling me ‘Draco’, you bastard!” Draco yelled, sorely tempted to throw something else at him. “And what _haven’t_ you done should be the real question here. You _kissed_ me, you shameless prick!”

“Oh, I like that!” Potter shot to his feet, wiping pie off his face with an impatient swipe of his hand. “Who was the one kissing me back, huh? Clinging to me so hard I probably have the finger marks to prove it. Moaning and whimpering and practically _begging_ for it.”

The blush that had finally begun to subside came back in full force and Draco could have decked Potter right then and there. “How. Dare. You.”

Potter stepped closer until they were nose to nose, his expression dangerous. “You were almost melting in my arms, Malfoy. I bet I _could_ get you to beg for it. You wanted it, don’t even try to deny it now.” 

Draco clenched his fists and stared mutinously at the ground. He _had_ wanted it, and that was what made it so wrong. Potter sighed audibly and his voice was almost gentle when he spoke again.

“Malfoy, look at me.” He waited until Draco did so before he continued. “I’m not trying to push you, I swear. It’s just, there’s something between us, right? I know I’m not imagining it.”

Draco screwed his eyes shut. “Potter, why must you do this to me?”

“You make it impossible not to.”

Draco shuddered at the loaded words. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Potter watched him earnestly, and it was all too much. Draco couldn’t think straight with him so close, and he moved away to get some breathing room.

“I– I can’t do this right now,” he said, edging towards the door.

“Malfoy, come on.”

Draco didn’t wait to hear more, rushing away as fast as he could. A stupid part of him almost wished Potter would just stay down in the kitchen and then he wouldn’t have to see him again. If Potter would just let it go, they could act like the kiss had never happened and things could be normal again. As if to dispel that very notion and rub his misdeeds in his face, when Draco made it back to the party, he immediately ran into Ginny and made her spill her drink all over her front.

“Merlin, Draco, what’s the rush?” She laughed as she cleaned herself up with a swish of her wand, but quickly stopped when she took in his dishevelled appearance. “Are you alright?” she asked, and the sweet concern in her voice made him want to cry.

“What’s wrong with Malfoy?” Weasley joined them and placed a steady hand on Draco’s arm. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I don’t– I’m not feeling too well, actually,” Draco stammered out, with what he hoped was a believable smile. He couldn’t even _look_ at Ginny. “I think it might be better if I go home actually…” he trailed off as he noticed Weasley’s gaze focusing on Draco’s neck, and Draco _really_ wanted to cry now because he’d completely forgotten to spell away the crude evidence of Potter’s indiscretions.

“Oh, there you are, Harry!” Ginny called, waving a hand in the air. “Something’s wrong with Draco.”

Draco would have wrenched himself away but Weasley only further tightened his grip. “You’re not running away this time,” he said quietly, his tone firm as he proceeded to drag Draco to where Potter stood at the door, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Weasley, let go of me,” Draco grit, struggling for all he was worth.

“What are you doing, Ron?” Ginny hissed, glancing at the others in the room. “You’re making a bloody scene, and I don’t even know what this is about.”

By now they’d reached the door but Weasley didn’t stop there and led them all up to the library. Draco hated that he was being manhandled like a ragdoll, but as Weasley looked like he would happily body-bind Draco if he struggled too much, there was nothing he could do about it. Ginny and Potter followed close behind, the former looking even more concerned now, while the latter looked… resigned?

When they reached the library, Weasley unceremoniously let go and practically threw him into the room. Draco stumbled on the rug and almost fell over. He shot Weasley a dirty look.

“I’m going to have a bloody bruise from all that rough-handling, you cretin.”

Weasley shrugged unapologetically. “You looked like you were about to bolt.”

“Will _someone_ tell me what is going on?” Ginny interjected heatedly. “And what in the world happened to Draco’s neck? He looks like he got attacked by the Giant Squid.”

Potter cleared his throat awkwardly, Weasley looked just about ready to laugh, and Draco wondered if he could survive jumping out the window. The moment of truth, however, was interrupted as the door swung open to admit Granger, face set in a mulish expression. They all stared at her and she crossed her arms tightly, lifting her chin and setting her jaw.

“So what if I wanted to know what was happening? Sue me!”

Weasley went over to put his arm around her and loudly kissed the side of her head. “Don’t worry, your nosiness is one of the things I love about you,” he chuckled, and Granger smacked him slightly on the arm.

“You all rushed out so suddenly and I couldn’t just– Good heavens, what happened to Draco’s neck?”

Draco threw his hands in the air and made an explosive noise that was pure frustration. “You can all thank your precious boy-hero for these,” he groused in a loud voice, gesturing viciously to his whole neck, which was apparently quite a sight if everyone couldn’t seem to stop _staring at it_. He pointed accusingly at Potter. “And _you_ , I hope you’re happy about this.”

Ginny whooped loudly and gave Potter a comradely smack on the back that made him take a step forward.

“Way to stake your claim, Harry,” she praised, giving the now blushing Potter an approving nod.

_What the fuck?_

“Though I’m surprised Draco let you maul him like that. Some of those look borderline painful.”

Had Draco hit his head somewhere? Was he in a coma having some sort of fucked up dream?

“Wait, why was Draco running away? Harry, did you _hurt_ him?”

“Other than the apparent,” Weasley snorted and then yelped when Granger smacked him hard with a hissed, “Not now _,_ Ron _._ ”

Ginny stepped forward menacingly and cracked a knuckle in an extremely un-ladylike manner. Potter’s hands went up defensively and he quickly put a chair between himself and Ginny.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said somewhat belligerently, looking anywhere but at Draco. “He _seemed_ to be fine with what we were, er… doing.” Weasley snorted again. “But then he suddenly freaked and pushed me away and threw pies at me,” he ended with a slight pout. “My hair probably still smells like gravy and meat.”

Everyone turned to Draco with varying levels of judgement and Draco stared back, completely flummoxed. He had no clue what was happening right now but he was starting to get the idea that he’d made a blunder in his understanding of things somewhere along the line.

“Okay.” Draco cleared his throat. “I’m just going to go out on a limb and ask: are Ginny and Potter dating?”

Potter promptly tripped even though he wasn’t moving, and Ginny choked on air. Weasley grabbed his girlfriend’s arm and propelled her out of the room, closing the door firmly behind them even as she began to complain. “Not our business, love,” Draco heard him say before their footsteps died away. An awkward silence settled in the room.

“Wait, so let me get this straight,” Ginny finally spoke up, shaking her head vigorously as if water had gotten in to her ears. “You thought. Harry and I. Were dating. _This_ _whole_ _time?!_ ”

Draco nodded mutely, suddenly feeling like an idiot. “Well, you dated in sixth year, didn’t you? And after the War too.”

“We did,” she conceded with an exasperated look. “We got together after the War but that didn’t even last a month. Harry’s gay, you twit.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to choke on air, and Ginny buried her face in her hands with a groan.

“Draco, you are the stupidest smart person I’ve ever met.” She sounded completely fed up. “Honestly, just _why_?”

“No one told me any of this, alright,” Draco argued back, the idiotic feeling only getting worse. “How the hell was I supposed to know?”

“It was in the bloody papers, for fuck’s sake!” Ginny exclaimed. “Our breakup was splashed across the papers for a full month before we managed to get them to stop.”

“We don’t subscribe to the Prophet anymore. We stopped when the Trials began,” Draco mumbled, looking at the ground. The Prophet had done a whole piece on the Malfoys and the things they’d said hadn’t been kind.

“You could have still asked, Draco,” Ginny said more gently. “Without jumping to conclusions.”

“At the start, our friendship was just so new and I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable by asking personal things,” Draco admitted. “You were both always together and Potter never seemed to like it whenever you got too close to me.”

Ginny sent Potter an amused look. “I’m pretty sure he was glaring at me, not you, Draco.”

“What was all that about taking Ginny out to dinner then?” Draco asked Potter.

Potter scratched his head sheepishly. “I sort of wanted to ask her advice on how to go about asking _you_ out.”

Draco groaned. “Well, it sounded more like a bloody date to me.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly, resigned now to the fact that he’d apparently been killing himself for nothing.

“You could have asked me,” Ginny persisted. “At least after you felt more comfortable with me. Friends talk about stuff like that.”

Draco looked away. “I didn’t want to hear about your relationship,” he said quietly. “Not when I…” He blushed at the words left unspoken.

“Oh, Draco.” Ginny gave him a sympathetic pat on the cheek. “I suppose this is all down to bad communication. I was sure Harry had said something to you.” She looked accusingly at Potter.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up,” Potter whined, embarrassment colouring his features. “It’s not like I have any experience dating blokes.”

“Is that why you asked me if I was gay?” Draco asked, their conversation in the attic coming to mind. Potter nodded hesitatingly.

“Ginny already told me you were gay actually. It was her idea that I try my luck with you, but I was nervous and I didn’t know how to go about it. You seemed interested though.” He looked so forlorn now and Draco desperately wanted to give him something to smile about.

“I was– _am_ interested,” Draco replied with as much confidence as he could muster. “But there wasn’t anything I could do about it when I thought you were dating Ginny.”

“Bad communication,” Ginny repeated. “You two really need to sort out a couple of things, so I’ll leave you to it.” She made it halfway to the door before she turned around again. “Oh, and just to be clear, I’m dating Neville, not Harry.” And then she was gone.

Draco blinked. “Longbottom, really?”

Potter frowned. “Be nice. She’s really happy with Nev. He’s abroad right now attending a Herbology convention in Germany, but he’ll be back in a week or so.” 

Once again, the room settled into silence. Draco wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out, so mortified was he by the turn of events. This was probably the most humiliated he’d ever felt in his life, and that included being caught crying in a girl’s bathroom. He supposed by now he should’ve known that if it had to do with Draco looking like an idiot or worse, Potter would be there to see it.

“So…” Potter finally spoke. “What do we do now?”

Draco genuinely had no idea. He’d just found out that not only was his crush reciprocated, but there was nothing wrong about acting on it. He took Potter in, noting the faint flush on his cheeks and the nervous energy surrounding him. Gone was the confident man in the kitchen, and it was as if Potter had reverted back to an awkward schoolboy trying to ask Cho Chang out to the Yule ball.

Draco wanted to tell Potter that the best course of action would be to continue from where they’d left off in the kitchen. He wanted to walk up to the man and kiss him again, knowing that there was nothing holding them back. He wanted to ask Potter if they could go out for dinner some time. He dearly wanted to return to the party hand in hand, showing everyone that Potter was his now.

Instead, he gave Potter an apologetic look and said, “I think it might be better if I went home. Please, don’t try to contact me.”

Draco swept out of the room and returned to the sitting room where everyone had apparently left except for Ginny, Granger, and Weasley. They tried to say something but Draco ignored them and entered the Floo. As he was whisked away, he caught one final glimpse of Potter coming into the room, face ashen.

* * *

“So you’re telling me that Potter wasn’t dating Ginny after all, he returns your feelings wholeheartedly, Weasley and Granger seem to approve as well, and you _walked away and completely cut all contact with him_?” Pansy said in monotone, her expression as blank as her tone.

Blaise was staring with an equally blank face, and he hadn’t uttered a single word since Draco had told them about what happened. His silence was as unsettling as Pansy’s composure and Draco was starting to feel alarmed. This alarm only further grew when Pansy abruptly cut the Floo connection, leaving Draco with his head in a cold grate.

“What the fuck?”

Mercury gave a hoot as if to second him. Draco pulled out of the grate and flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. So apparently his friends had abandoned him after finding out what an utter prick he was. And yes, Draco was fully aware that what he’d done to Potter was beyond prick-ish.

It had been a week since Teddy’s birthday and as he’d asked of him, Potter hadn’t tried to contact him in any way; no owls, no Floo-calls, no unexpected visits. Draco knew he had no right to feel hurt by Potter’s desertion, _especially_ when he’d brought it on himself, but it still did. He hadn’t heard from Ginny either, and the dissolution of their friendship was clear evidence that the Fates had a sick sense of irony.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. It could have been a few minutes or an hour for all he knew, but he was eventually jerked out of his purposeless vigil when his door slammed open louder than it had ever been slammed before – and that door had already been slammed _a lot_. Draco turned his head sideways to see who had entered, and he blinked, sure he was seeing things.

“I’ve finally gone round the bend, it seems,” he said aloud, feeling pretty serene considering his insanity. “Janus Thickey ward, here I come.”

Mirage-Pansy rolled her eyes in a wonderful imitation of the real one. “Get up, idiot. We’re real, unfortunately for you.”

Draco did sit up, but not because he believed the mirage. “Ah, but that’s exactly what a hallucination would say,” he reasoned smugly.

“He really is out of it, isn’t he?” Mirage-Blaise mused, staring down at him in morbid fascination.

Mirage-Pansy stalked up to Draco and whipped out her wand, flicking it at him with a sharp smile. “Perhaps this will reassure you of our authenticity.”

Draco yelped loudly as a Stinging Hex caught him on _both_ arse cheeks and he quickly got to his knees, hands instinctively grabbing at his backside in a most undignified way. Apparently she wasn’t a mirage after all.

“Salazar, if that wasn’t just the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed,” Blaise breathed, staring at his girlfriend adoringly. Pansy tucked her wand into her belt and dusted her hands off, looking like the kneazle that had gotten the cream. 

Draco rubbed his aching arse tenderly. “What in the ever-loving fuck are you two doing here?”

“I needed to hex you in person,” Pansy said matter-of-factly.

“And I wanted to watch,” Blaise put in.

“But really,” Pansy continued, her eyes glittering dangerously. “I mostly want to throttle you for being the biggest idiot in the history of idiocy.”

Draco scrambled to his feet and put a good distance between them in case she went through with her threat. He stuck his nose in the air haughtily.

“I’m aware of my idiocy.”

“Then _why_ are you doing this to yourself?”

Draco sighed, moving to flop onto his bed and waving for them to join him. He didn’t know how to explain it; the conflict inside him that refused to be resolved or dispelled.

“Tell us, Draco,” Pansy murmured, moving up to pull him into a loose hug, her fingers carding gently through his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the comfort of having her with him again. He’d never admit it, but when she and Blaise had left, it’d been like losing a piece of himself.

“I think it’s because I’m still nothing more than a coward,” he finally whispered. No one said anything, waiting for him to continue. “When I realised that I liked Potter – that I _wanted_ him – I was scared because of what it would do to our friendship, not to mention Ginny. I really valued what I had with her. If it wasn’t for her, I’d still be moping around the Manor. I’d never have made the decision to complete my N.E.W.T.s or turn my life around.”

Draco paused for a moment, swallowing around the lump that had formed in his throat. “I didn’t want to do anything to mess up, and then I find out that there was nothing to mess up in the first place. And I should have been happy, right? Instead, the realisation that there was nothing to stop us being together terrified the shite out of me.”

He gave them a defiant look. “Can you imagine if we were actually together? The Saviour shacking up with a Death Eater, not even a full year since the War. It would never last. Potter would eventually realise that I’m just not worth the trouble, and he’d leave me.”

Pansy’s hands in his hair suddenly had sharp nails and he hissed at the sting. “You’re right, you _are_ an absolute coward!” she spat, looking utterly appalled. “What happened to the little blonde brat who used to whine and fuss and scheme until he got what he wanted? So what if people throw a fuss? When have you _ever_ given a rat’s arse about what the public think? So what if it might not last? You don’t know for sure which way it’ll go; it could turn out beautifully or blow up in your face. But you won’t know unless you _try_.”

“Not to forget, even if it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll get some good shags out of it first,” Blaise added dreamily. “Potter’s hot as fuck.”

“Can’t you give it a try?” Pansy whined. “You said it yourself, you’re turning your life around. You want to be your own man, then go for what you want.”

What Pansy had said resonated with him, but was he really willing to take a chance like that? Yes, he fancied Potter, but at the same time, he _liked_ him. He’d enjoyed being friends with him and if everything went pear-shaped, he wouldn’t even have that left. It was such a gamble and Draco had never been a betting man. He preferred things to be planned out; the less variables, the less likely it was that he’d be blindsided.

Pansy and Blaise were watching him earnestly and the weight of their gaze felt heavy and uncomfortable. He knew they were only looking out for him but to his already frazzled mind, it felt more like they were pushing expectations on him that he just couldn’t meet. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was still a coward. He couldn’t just recklessly leap into the unknown the way they thought he could. He was afraid. He’d always been afraid.

_Trust me, he’ll get the Snitch alright._

Ginny’s words from that Quidditch game all those weeks ago came back to him in an instance. It had been absolutely terrifying to dive for the Snitch like that, not knowing whether he’d catch it or not, and the possibility of getting hurt a very real thing. And yet… he’d still gone for it anyways, hadn’t he? He’d done exactly what he’d never been able to do before; he’d gone for what he wanted, repercussions be damned, and it had _worked_. In that split second of thought, everything seemed to fall into place and Draco felt his mouth curl into a smile.

“I need to see him.”

“Wait, what? Draco, are you–”

But Draco wasn’t listening to Pansy any longer. He sprang out of bed and rushed to his closet. He needed a suitable outfit that said, ‘I’m sorry I abandoned you, but I’m also sexy as hell so it would be in your best interest to just forgive me and shag me instead’. He was trying to decide between a loose jumper that could easily be removed, and a tight shirt that left little to the imagination, when the door banged open again.

This time Draco did jump, whirling around with his wand aloft as Pansy shrieked and Blaise fell off the bed onto his face. Ginny marched in like a general leading her charge into battle, followed close behind by an equally determined-looking Granger, one exasperated Weasley, and last but certainly not least, Potter. If their arrival wasn’t already astonishing enough, there were yards of rope wound tightly around Potter’s body and he was being levitated in by Granger.

Everyone eyed everyone else. Well, except for Potter. He had his eyes locked on the back of Ginny’s head and Draco wouldn’t have been surprised if a hatchet materialised out of thin air to lodge itself there. 

“You didn’t have to come all this way, you know,” Pansy spoke up first. “Draco was just getting ready to visit Potter himself.”

Ginny and Granger looked delighted, Weasley closed his eyes with a frustrated groan and Potter let out a loud, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Do take a seat,” Pansy continued, inviting them in as if it was her room and not Draco’s. “Would you like some tea? We can ring for it if you want.”

Granger shook her head with a small smile. “No, but thank you for the offer.” She sat down primly in the same armchair she’d sat in the last time she’d visited.

Ginny took a seat at the foot of Draco’s bed beside Blaise. “So I take it you two gave Draco a good talking to?”

“Caught the first Portkey we could and got here about half an hour after he told us what happened,” Blaise answered glibly.

“Impressive.” Ginny looked between them approvingly. “We broke out of Hogwarts and then kidnapped Harry to bring him here with the intention of forcing Draco to talk to him or else.”

“Even more impressive.” Pansy gave them an approving look in return.

“Just for the record, I wanted no part of this,” Weasley put in.

“Then why are you here?” Blaise asked.

Weasley blushed fiercely, shooting Granger a betrayed look. “I was threatened.”

Pansy looked even more delighted. “I’m beginning to seriously like you Gryffindors. We girls must get together for dinner one day.”

Draco stared in horror. “Merlin help us all,” he groaned and the other three wizards nodded in agreement, looking equal parts terrified.

“To get back to the matter at hand,” Granger interjected. “Harry, is there anything you want to say?”

“Untie me.”

“I meant, say to Draco.”

“Malfoy, untie me.”

“Harry!”

“It’s fine,” Draco said, pulling out his wand and releasing Potter from his bonds. “Better, Potter?”

“Much,” he replied with a grin. He came over to where Draco stood and pulled him in for a quick, hard kiss on the mouth. “Go out with me tonight?”

Draco smirked, lips tingling. “Definitely.”

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Pansy mused dryly. “After all we did to get them to this point too.”

“We broke about a dozen school rules for _this_?” Ginny sounded disgusted.

Granger sighed. “I suppose, as long as they’re happy…”

Draco turned to all of them, still smirking. “We’re truly grateful for all the trouble you went through, but now I ask that you all kindly leave.” He sent Potter a wicked look. “Potter and I still have some things to discuss in private.”

Weasley made a gagging sound. “Already gone,” he muttered, making a beeline for the door.

Draco waited until everyone else had gone and as soon as the door closed behind them, he dropped the flirty attitude, regarding Potter apprehensively. Potter stared back impassively for a moment and then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned away. Draco internally winced. Apparently Potter wasn’t going to make this any easier for him.

He watched as Potter made a circuit around his room and he found himself fidgeting nervously. This room had always been one of his favourite places in all the world, and it had served as his sanctuary when the Manor had been taken over by You-know-who. No one had troubled him when he was here and it had solely been due to his mother’s protectiveness. She’d woven a thick network of spells into the very walls of his room, making it so that only she and Draco could enter. You-know-who could surely have broken through, but he’d never had reason to do so and the room had been impermeable to everyone else, Lucius included. Draco loved this room with all his heart and it was with bated breath that he waited as Potter took everything in.

“It’s just like you.”

Even though he was looking at him, Draco still jumped when Potter spoke. “Excuse me?”

“The room,” Potter clarified, green eyes unwaveringly locked on Draco. “It’s just like you.”

“Pretentious and a mess?” Draco tried to joke but it fell flat even to his own ears.

“No.” Potter shook his head and his stoic expression softened a little. “Well-groomed and thoughtfully put together, maybe even a little cold at a glance, but make the effort to look further and you’ll notice the hidden warmth and loveliness in every corner.”

Draco felt like he’d just burst into flames and he made a grab at his bedpost as his legs went wobbly. “Potter, you have to know that I didn’t mean to–”

“I seriously did not want to see you, you know,” Potter continued casually, easily speaking over Draco. “I was really mad after you left, but Hermione reasoned that you were probably just scared.”

“Trust Granger to get it right on even this account.” He was glad when his voice came out firm.

“And now?”

“Oh, I still am,” Draco replied honestly. “It might not work out.”

“It might not,” Potter granted.

“Not to mention, the press will have a field day when they find out.”

“We could tell them to fuck off and then run away to Romania until they find something better to report about.”

“You’ll have to get used to my friends.”

“I already sort of like them, and anyways, you’ll have to get used to mine too so we’re even.”

“We’re going to fight a lot.”

“The makeup sex will be amazing.”

Draco laughed helplessly. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you, Potter?”

“I already told you, it’s ‘Harry’,” Potter replied, stepping closer. “And yeah, I do. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but at least it’ll be interesting.” He tilted his head and gave a small lopsided smile that did strange things to Draco’s heart. “Still want to give it a go?”

Draco stepped forward as well, and now they were so close he could feel the warmth radiating from the man in front of him. “When I first agreed to help you, I asked you what I’d gain from it all. In all truth, I gained a lot of things. I got my wand back, I made new acquaintances–”

“He means friends,” Potter said to no one in particular, looking very amused.

“Fine, I made new _friends_ ,” Draco amended with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve already gained quite a lot as it is, but I remember you mentioning _compensations_?” He casually placed his arms around Potter’s shoulders and any remaining distance between them disappeared as he pressed their chests flush against each other.

“Oh?” Potter’s hands settled firmly on Draco’s hips and he gave a dangerous smile. Draco smirked back as he leaned in to whisper in Potter’s ear.

“Well, I’m ready to collect.”

* * *

_Epilogue_

“Harry, no, we’ll be late,” Draco laughed breathlessly as Harry ignored his whines and continued to shower his neck with kisses. “Salazar, what is with you and my neck?”

Harry chuckled, pausing in his torrent of kisses to give Draco’s neck a fond nuzzle. “Have I ever told you, you have a beautiful neck?”

“Yes, all the time. Now unhand me or there’ll be none of this after the ceremony.”

Harry pouted but pulled back nonetheless, allowing Draco to straighten up and push away from the wall he’d been crowded against. He used a spell to smooth out the wrinkles on his dress robes and did the same for Harry’s. “Ginny will never forgive me for ruining her wedding day. I’m her best man and I cannot be late.”

“You’re the one who forgot your speech and had to rush home to retrieve it even though you’ve already read through it a million times and have it memorised word to word.”

“You didn’t need to accompany me.”

Harry placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “I haven’t had a moment alone with you all day.”

“Still not an excuse for missing the ceremony.”

He took Harry’s hand and led him to the Floo. They passed the Black tapestry that still hung in its place on the wall and he gave it a fond smile as his eyes sought out his name, proudly connected to the one which lay branching out from _Sirius_ , long since restored to the family tree along with many others.

 _Draco Lucius Potter-Malfoy_ linked by golden thread to _Harry James Potter-Malfoy_.

Harry followed his gaze and gave his hand a light squeeze. “I still remember that moment when we got home after our honeymoon,” he said, voice faintly teasing as Draco tried his utmost not to blush and then failed spectacularly. He remembered that moment all too well.

“You were so happy,” Harry continued with a bemused shake of the head. “When you caught sight of the change in our names and the new branch, you stared with this look of complete awe.” Draco’s breath hitched as Harry leant to speak directly into his ear. “You were stunning in that moment and it made me realise just how lucky I was, having you in my life. To be able to call you _mine_.”

“Harry…” 

“And of course, you jumping me and begging me to take you right there on the carpet was a welcome outcome as well.” 

Draco pulled away enough to regard him with a dry expression. “And here I thought you were actually being romantic for once.”

“I can be romantic,” Harry protested, looking insulted. “And anyways, the hot sex that followed only added to an already magical moment.”

“My knees were practically in ruin afterwards. I had to take a potion for the rug burns.”

“I forgot about that part.” Draco laughed and leant in to kiss his frown away.

He’d been with Harry for a long time now and while things hadn’t always been perfect, these years together had been some of the happiest of Draco’s existence. There were still times when he’d randomly wonder how his life might have been, had he not plucked up the courage to pursue what he wanted. In the still hours of the morning when he was coming home after a long shift at St Mungo’s; during quiet evenings by the fireplace, snuggled up to Harry as he recounted the heroisms of his day… Draco would wonder for the sake of wondering, although it never lasted long. He knew that in the grand scheme of things, what was most important was that he was here with Harry _now._

So whenever he saw the proof of their bond, displayed so beautifully in gold, reminding him of all that he _did_ have, Draco couldn’t help the swell of emotion that took over and as he gazed at the tapestry, soft smile in place, irate red-headed brides were forgotten.

Harry nudged him lightly and he turned to find his husband smiling back at him with a soft look to match his own. “Come on, you have somewhere to be, remember. You can gaze at it all you want when we get back.” He used their still joined hands to pull Draco to the Floo.

“I truly love that tapestry, you know.”

Harry threw a pinch of powder into the grate. “Yes, I know,” he said indulgently. “Oh, and Draco?”

“Hmm?”

“Just so you know,” Harry had a face of utter seriousness, though his eyes glittered mischievously. “Ginny’s getting married to Neville, not me.”

He jumped into the Floo before Draco could dredge up a retort, his laughter echoing behind him. Draco scowled, following behind with a muttered curse.

Six years and Harry still wouldn’t let it go.

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos are appreciated, comments give me life, and if you'd like to come chat me up on my [Tumblr](https://nestofdreams.tumblr.com/), then please do!


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